
Class _:RS_3_SjLS 
Book t^)/aj96 



Copyright N°. 



'I'Z, 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





O Ivxx \^. ^K-*^ 




AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



AND 



MISCELLANEA 



BY 



JOHN G. WIGHT, A. B., A. M., Litt. D.. Bowdoin 

Ph. D., Hamilton. 



ITICA, N. Y.: 

Pkkss ok L. (". ("iin.DS A- Son 
xrxcxi I 



-x ri, 3" 



Coprighted 1912 
By John G. Wight 



0?Z'<^^' 



£CI.A30!)7!)5 



PREFATORY NOTE 



THESE FRAGMENTS. GATHERED DURING THE BUSY LIFE OF A 
TEACHER, ARE PUBLISHED CHIEFLY IN THE HOPE THAT 
THEY WILL BE OF INTEREST TO FRIENDS. FORMER ASSOCIATE 
TEACHERS AND PUPILS. THE BOOK IS. WITH SINCERE AFFEC 
TION. DEDICATED TO MY WIFE. 

JOHN G. WIGHT. 
Clinton. Oneida Co., N. Y. 



CONTENTS 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Chapter 

I. Early Life and Education 

II. Navy Experience .... 

III. Teaching Experience 

IV. Letters ...... 



Page 

9 

18 

45 

55 



MISCELLANExV 

The Teacher's Burden . 
Virgil's Fourth Eclogue 
The Teacher's Success . 

Response 

Joy and Rest .... 

cooperstovvn centennial 

The ]\Iaine Society of New York 

^Iemorial Day Address 

Apotheosis of Penn 

Masters op Epigram 

A Good Historical Noa^l 

Rulers of England . 

Prose -Poets .... 

The Pleasures of Reading Shakspeare 

English Orthoepy . 

Horace 

Walter Savage Landor . 
Nathaniel Hawthorne 
Literature and Life 
Literary Parallelisms 



87 
100 
101 
116 
117 
119 
121 
122 
134 
137 
138 
140 
141 
142 
144 
146 
154 
171 
193 
204 











Paqk 


KpISTOLAHV lilTERATURE LM8 


IjIFE in Letters 








220 


AVORK ...... 








. 225 


KXTKAV.VGANTE .... 








. 227 


^Fax and I'atriot 








228 


Joint Honors .... 








. '2:V2 


The Star- Spangled Banner . 








. 234 


In Memoriam — Horace Lathrop 








. 234 


My Mother .... 








. 234 


The Girls 








. 235 


The Wadleigh Colors 








. 235 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



CHAPTER I. 

EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION. 

THE earliest remembered incident of my life is of being 
on horse-back, sitting in front of my father, on our 
way through a narrow wooded glen. Our mission at 
the time was to carrj^ salt to the stock — principally young 
cattle — which were summering in a back pasture. The pic- 
ture, still graphic after more than sixty years, is only a 
glimpse of the horse and its two riders as they halted for a 
moment beneath the sheltering branches of hemlock and spruce. 
The little white salt-bag, which indicated our business, is par- 
ticularly distinct in memor3^ Of what had preceded, as well 
as of what followed, this brief resting spell, I have not the 
faintest recollection ; nor can I imagine why this particular 
mental snap-shot, taken during a morning ride, should have 
left so indelible an impress. Why, it might with reason be 
asked, should I not rather have retained (what I must have 
witnessed) the spectacle of salt-hungry animals as they gath- 
ered in rough-and-tumble impatience at the usual salting place 1 
This incident must have occurred as early as m}^ third or fourth 
year. 

Inasmuch as my father died shortly after nly fifth birth- 
day, my recollections of him are neither many nor very clear. 
Strange to say. the few I do retain are chiefly associated with 
riding and driving. One such recollection is of an early morn- 
ing drive, in the course of which my father purchased a string 
of beautiful trout, for which he paid a silver half-dollar. The 
scene is now, after so many years, as if it were of yesterday. 
Below us was the river, with its frothy eddy, where lurked 
the speckled beauties. In the middle of the stream the water 
was turbulent and foamed about what was called the "ford- 
ing rock." This rock was «o named because it was possible 
to know from its appearance at any time whether the river 



lU AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was low enough to make fording safe at a place farther down 
the stream. Another instance I recall was of driving with 
my father when he was going to one of his farms six miles 
distant, but on which occasion he decided to leave me on the 
way at an uncle's, to play with two girl cousins until his re- 
turn. This visit is memorable for the thorough wetting I got 
by falling into a brook near which we were frolicking. The 
sequel of this mishap was my being put to bed while my clothes 
were drying. 

My father's funeral is distinctly remembered. The funeral 
service was conducted in the old unpainted meeting-house, 
which stood on the other side of the Androscoggin directly 
opposite our home. The scene, however, made but little im- 
pression on my unreasoning years. It is to me a cause of 
thankfulness that even a few glimpses of my father are among 
the treasures of memory. I sometimes try to imagine what 
his influence upon me would have been, had he not been so 
early cut off. 

Space must here be given for a few words about the old 
meeting-house. At the time referred to it was the only house 
for public worship in primitive Gilead, one of the Western- 
most towns of Oxford County, in Maine. As w^as then the 
ease witli most rural sections of New England, the Gilead 
homesteads were more populous sixty years ago than they 
are to-day; and it was the rule for all, so far as age and 
doni(\stie duties permitted, to attend church. As there was 
no ])ridge over the river, those living on our side, that is, the 
north side, were accustomed, on Sunday mornings, to congre- 
gate at the river on our farm, and, after making their horses 
secure in the little grove that skirted the river-bank, to cross 
in a large flat-bottomed boat, which was navigated by means 
of oars and poles. The gatherings at church, at a time, it 
must be remembered, when the Androscoggin Valley had no 
railroad and but little communication with the outside world, 
had not only religious but social attractions, especially in the 
summer time, when at the noon intermission the people gath- 
ered at a nearby spring to eat their gingerbread and indulge 
in neighborly gossip. The congregations were large in those 
days and were reverently attentive to the simple discourse 



EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION 11 

of the preacher. The choir, hardly second in importance to 
the minister (who was either a Methodist or a Congregation- 
alist), was very large and had for accompaniment violins and 
a bass viol. The last mentioned instrument to my eyes look- 
ed abnormally big and was almost terror-inspiring for its 
thunderous tone. Sometimes at the services there were amus- 
ing happenings. On one occasion, after the choir had finish- 
ed the usual voluntary anthem, the preacher, a stranger, turned 
to the chorister and requested that they "sing another verse." 
At another time, according to tradition, at the close of the 
service a local exhorter, who was by no means a favorite in 
the community, rose in the congregation and said: "If there 
is no objection, I will occupy this pulpit next Sunday." After 
due waiting, as naturally there was no expressed objection, 
he proceeded to say: "Silence gives consent; you may expect 
me to preach." 

Gilead is not without its interesting traditions, relating 
both to the sad and the mirthful sides of life. The Millerite, 
or second adventist, delusion, of about 1840, is said to have 
been taken Avith greater seriousness by the Gileadites than 
generally by other communities. The most enthusiastic con- 
verts to the teaching of Millei: (who, it is well known, had 
set the very day of the "second coming") gave away their 
stock, carriages, farming implements, and even their clothing, 
under the belief that after the fateful day there would be no 
use for them. The ludicrousness of the situation appeared 
when, as at the expiration of the appointed time no cata- 
clysm took place, these deluded ones were in the humiliating 
position of begging for the return of what in their folly they 
had given away. Apropos of the Millerite hallucination an 
interesting hon mot of Emerson is related. He was one day 
met by a disciple of Miller who said to him: "Mr. Emerson, 
don't you know that the world will come to an end next 
Thursday ? " To which Emerson replied : ' ' Oh, well, I guess 
I can get along without it." Socrates never said anything 
happier. Gilead, too, had its murder horror, known as the 
"Wild River Tragedy." This occurred at the time of the 
building of th(^ railroad, when a new and turbulent popula- 
tion came like a flood into the humdrum town, producing a 



12 AUTOBIOGHAPHY 

state of disquiet among the staid natives. It was a double 
murder, — in brief, the act of a jealous blacksmith, who shot 
his handsome wife and then himself. The deed, so unheard 
of in the town, was shocking in the extreme. The day of 
the funeral, when both victims were placed in a single grave, 
is still recalled for the breathless awe that hung like a pall 
over the inhabitants. Nor is Gilead without its traditions of 
odd sayiiifi's ol' (luccr people of the place. One such shall 
suffii-c. A liali-wiltcd fellow of our neighborhood, one night 
observing the clouds furiously blown across the face of the 
full moon, giving an apparent rapid motion to that luminary, 
ejaculated: ''Gosh, I've seen a good many moons in my day, 
but I never see one go like that before." 

I am not a little proud of the natural attractions of Gilead, 
as being the place where 1 was born on the 2nd of March, 1842. 
The landscape of the town comprises, mainly, a nearly straight 
valley, extending east and west. Through the midst of this 
valley flows a river of moderate size, which embraces in its 
arms occasional islands of exquisite beauty. The valley is 
guarded on either side by a considerable mountain wall, i>artly 
bare and ledgy and partly wooded, and having sufficient va- 
rietj^ of height and form to escape monotony and give pleasure 
to the sight. The intervales that skirt the river-banks have 
in right measure a sprinkling of graceful elms and other come- 
ly trees, just enough, indeed, to complete the scene. Back of 
the meadows, and reaching up the sides of the mountains, 
are attractive pasture foot-hills, groves and grazing land com- 
bined in fascinating harmony. Add to tliis a distant view of 
Madison and Adams, the north-eastern })eaks of the White 
Mountains, and the picture becomes one of unusual b(>auty. 

The jiarticular liouK^slead of iin' nativity is a farm ex- 
tending nearly lialf a mile along the river and reaching mount- 
ainward almost indefinitely. It was the most westerly of four 
contiguous fanns owned by four brothers. The liuildings oc- 
cupied an elevated site fifty feet above the intervale, and had 
as tlieir immediate backgi'ound a mountain called "Tumble- 
Down-Dick," that in ]ilaces attains a height of 2,000 feet. 
In one part this mountain has the appearance of an almost 
vertical wall. The mountain received its name from a disas- 



EARLY lilFE AND EDUCATION 13 

trous fall had there by one Dick Feabody. Another part, 
called "Seavey Mountain," is marked by the effects of a 
nearly perpendicular slide, which left piled at the mountain's 
base a vast heap of fragments of rock varying in size and ir- 
regular in shape. Chance had so placed these massive stones as 
to form a large cave, which bears the name of "Devil's Den." 
This cave was generally shunned by the children, though they 
dared to climb to the plateau above it, where an extensive 
view of the valley is obtained. It is recalled as a charming 
incident of my childhood, that one summer day the school- 
mistress, a woman of unusual intelligence and imagination, 
took us on an excursion to this picturesque outlook, where 
we sang familiar school songs, among them "Ye banks and 
braes of Bonnj^ Doon." 

The schoolhouse, situated about seventy rods below the 
aforesaid cave, was on my father's property. It was a small 
unpainted structure, rude without and within. Its desks, made 
of long pine planks, were fantastically disfigured with knife- 
carvings. The building vanished long ago, leaving only traces 
of its simple foundation — uncut stones now in druidical ruin. 
A brook, convenient for damming and adaptable for the in- 
stalling of little water-wheels, flowed past the dooi'. half en- 
circling the school grounds. Midway between the sehoolhouse 
and the brook was a large boulder, whose flat top was a fa- 
vorite resort of the pupils. I remember that I once thought- 
lessly left my Colburn's arithmetic over night on this stone, 
to be found in the morning drenched with rain and nearly 
ruined. The mishap was not told my mother at tin; time, but 
the condition of the book necessarily became known when 
brought home at the end of the term. The explanation I gave 
of its pitiful coverless condition Avas, that the teacher had 
used it to rap on the window to call in the pupils at recess. 
This was. in fact, a half-truth — one of those subterfuges that 
ingenious youths find it convenient to resort to sometimes 
when in a tight place. Such luncheons as were brought to 
that school in winter! The sight of them, as they still ap])ear 
in UKnnory. makes my mouHi water. The contents of a cer- 
tain tin pail two of my cousins used to bi-ing were, in par- 
ticular, something most appetizing. In this pail were apples 



14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

of Oregonian size and color, and of a liavor such as was never 
dreamed of by dwellers on the Pacific coast. Then, there were 
tempting doughnuts, large and savory, and intermingled with 
them generous pieces of cheese of ambrosial quality ; and 
apple and mince pie of surpassing excellence, "such as mother 
used to make." This particular school luncheon, which, by 
the way, was not exceptional, came from a home noted for 
housewifely neatness, where, according to report, even the dog 
was taught to wipe his feet before entering the door. 

My mother, during nine years of widowhood, had the re- 
sponsibility of bringing up a family of nine children, five boys 
and four girls. Their ages, at the time of her bereavement, 
ranged from two to eighteen years. 1 was seventh in the list. 
It was a trust calling for wisdom and fortitude, qualities she 
possessed in good degree, and which were happily supplement- 
ed by unfailing patience. She submitted to her difficult con- 
dition uncomplainingly, as to something providential. 

As can well be imagined, the Gilead homes were but mea- 
gerly supplied with books. They contained but few beyond 
what were required for use in school. As I remember, our 
home had in the way of a library almost nothing except the 
Bible. I recall the scandal that was caused by the report that 
in one family the daughters were reading a novel, "yellow- 
covered." 

In my fourteenth year, accompanying my mother, who had 
contracted a second marriage, I was taken to a new home in 
Gorham, N. H., at what was called the upper village, a mile 
above the village proper. This place is on the Androscoggin, 
twelve miles farther up than Gilead. Unlike its direct course 
in Gilead, the Androscoggin, as it passes through Gorham, 
bends in a sharp and graceful curve. Gorham, in appear- 
ance, is mountain-walled on every side. I recall the appro- 
priateness of a sermon once preached by a summer visitor. 
The complete shut-in-ness of the place was happily suggested 
by his choice of a text — "As the mountains are round about 
Jerusalem." As we are now immediately in the "White Moun- 
tains, it seems proper to give a brief description of the Pres- 
idential Range. 

There is an ever increasing fascination in this unique group 



EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION 15 

of mountain peaks, the crown of the Appalachian system, in 
its happy setting among almost countless minor elevations. 
The visitor naturally feels an inclination to give expression 
to the emotions awakened by what is here seen and admired. 
But so faithfully and felicitously has the grandeur of this 
region been depicted by Starr King, even to the minutest 
details of valleys, rivers, and less pretentious surrounding 
heights, that his "White Hills" comes nigh being exclusive 
of further attempts at description. From a literary point of 
view, it would l)e as vain to attempt to write another "White 
Hills" as to try to improve upon Irving's Westminster Abbey. 
Since King's day there has developed a new interest in these 
New Hampshire mountains, an enthusiasm quite unknown in 
his time. I refer to the practice of "crossing the range," and 
to the more general climbing of mountains in the vicinity. 
To-day it is not, as formerly, enough merely to ascend Mount 
Washington. The almost endless variety of views obtainable 
from the surrounding peaks must be added to make the en- 
joyment of mountain scenery complete. To Starr King, how- 
ever, does belong the credit of having taken the initiative in 
traversing the Presidential peaks other than Washington. He 
claims to have been the first to sleep on Mount Adams, near 
its summit. He and his guide lay side by side on the bare 
stones wrapped in blankets. Now, not far from their night 
encampment, a comfortable stone hut is at the tourist's service. 
The manner of naming mountains is an interesting study. 
While it is the general custom in other countries to allow wide 
diversity in respect to such names, in the United States moun- 
tains are usually called after distinguished Americans. It was 
but natural that our earliest national executives should be 
chosen for this, perhaps our greatest possible distinction in 
the bestowing of mountain nomenclature. Consistency in the 
order of naming the four Presidential peaks lias l)een disre- 
garded by placing Jefferson between Washington and Adams. 
It is believed that originally Adams had the second place, and 
that the interchange of names subsequently made may have 
been out of deference to the juxtaposition of the mountain. and 
the town Jefferson. New Plampshire's intellectual giant, her 
orator and statesman, Daniel Webster, is obscureh^ reeogniz- 



16 ArTt)B10GKAPllV 

I'd ill the st)utlu'ni terminal of the range, and Henry Clay, the 
idol of the Avhig party, is represented by an even less promi- 
nent formation between Washington and Jefferson. These two 
great Americans, Webster and Clay, would seem to have been 
accorded each a humble place in the Presidential group, with 
something of irony be it said, beeause of their inordinate de- 
sire to be President. 

Owing to its well detined isolation, the Presidential group 
of the White Mountains olfers to the observer below a great 
variety of charming aspects, according as he changes his point 
of view. On the north, from the Androscoggin Valley, IMadison 
and Adams are to the front : on the south, especially as viewed 
from the upper Saeo and the Xot^'h. Wasliington is prominent; 
on the west, or Jett'erson side, are seen, in (fuite distinct in- 
diviiluality, all tlie members of the group, appearing as the 
convex are of a great circidar Avail; Avhile on the east side, 
from the Glen, a concave view of the same arc is obtained, 
the different peaks being even more clearly individualized. 
The Glen valley view, especially from a point half a mile north 
of the Glen house site, surpasses in grandeur all the other views 
of the four great peaks Avhich are obtainable from beloAV. 

In Gorham I had better opportunities for schooling. The 
terms were longer, the school building and equipment better, 
and the teaching of a higher order. Besides, 1 had every year 
the advantage of at least one short term of private school. 

On my sixteenth birtlulay I began my tirst term of school 
away from home. This was at (iould Academy, in Bethel. It 
was at the time Avhen l)oys and young men were just coming 
to think it the proper thing to wear shawls, the silliest devia- 
tion from customary dress I have ever known young Ameri- 
cans of the sterner sex to be guilty of. To me. ;it the time, 
the affected manner of the self-conscious l)eshawled youths was 
something of a burlesque. It should be mentioned in connec- 
tion with this stage of my education, that through the influ- 
ence of a Dartmouth junior Avho had taught our school the 
previous winter. I had been induced to begin the study of 
Latiji and to think about going to college. The effect of tak- 
ing up this ancient language was one of the greatest inspira- 
tions of my life. The lack of pecuniary means to warrant the 



EARLY LIPM'] AND EDUCATION 17 

thought of getting a college; education was made good by the 
generosity of nii oldci- brollici-. Aftcii- four terms, not con- 
tinuous by the way, at Bethel, 1 completed my preparation 
at the Maine; State Seminary, now Bat(;s (Jol](;g(;, at Lewiston, 
and entered Bowdoin ('ollege in the suniiiicr of ISJiO. It should 
be stated that pr(;vious to this time 1 had already taught ojk; 
term of winter school in my home district, wlusre I had been 
a pupil the pr(;vious year, and wh(;re I had as pupils most of 
my former school companions, several of them being older than 
myself. To all tlie obvious disadvantages of th(; position there 
was udded the drawback iHij)lied in the well Httest(;d truth, 
tluit funiiliarity breeds contempt. The conditions were hard, 
especially as 1 was young and new to the business:, and y(;t 
I believe the trying or'deal is to be counted in many re,sp(;cts 
a most valuabh; i)art of my training. 1 also, for earning a 
little money by teaching, made availabh; the; winter vacations 
of the freshman and the sophomore j^ears. These, it will be 
recalled, were years of great unrest owing to the opening 
scenes of the civil war. Many students, who could not (;ndure 
the strain of contemplating the possibility of our national dis- 
I'uption, left college to join the army. In the summer of 1862 
1 also heeded the call, and in cons<;quenc(; spent my junior 
year in the navy. The experiences of that year arc; to me of 
such significance that I shall give them somewhat in detail. 



CHAPTER 11. 
NAVY EXPERIENCE. 

TIIKKH \h, strictly speaking, no such thing as a history of 
dill' civil Avar, but there arc Imiuirccls of thousands of 
partial histories, most of which will never be read but 
by individual hearts. Each participant in that great struggle 
has his own story, unlike that of every other, — what he saw 
in a peculiai' way of places, people, and stirring events in 
which he luul a part. A single year spent in such a numner 
surpasses in interest all the remainder of one's life. In view 
of these facts, and having in mind the wish expressed by some 
one, that avc had more biographies of obscure men, I am ven- 
turing to relate how I spent the junior year of my college 
course as a landsman in the U. S. navy, believing that the 
narration will have sufficient interest to justify its appearing 
in print. 

Many incidents, mirthful as well as sad, are recalled in 
connection with college at the breaking out of the civil war. 
One touching occurrence at Bowdoin, which was doubtless 
someAvhat common at the time in the colleges of the North, 
was the sudden departure of tAvo students who were from 
the South, and who, as soon as secession was proclaimed, very 
naturally felt constrained to espouse the cause of their people 
at honu\ The senior class, of which they were members, es- 
corted them to the train in a body and bade them good-by 
in the friendliest manner, well knowing that chance might 
bring it about that they should meet as enemies on the bat- 
tlefield. The war spirit, so suddenly awakened and so new 
to that generation, with its attendant distraction, absorbed 
the thought of all. The forming of student militia companies, 
their almost constant drilling and marching, accentuated by 
the suggestive beating of drums, forbade the pretense of study. 
Every heart, uneasy with the sense of duty and feeling keenly 
possible reproofs for indecision at such a crisis, was kept at 
a high tension, and relentlessly urged the man to enroll him- 
self as a soldier. It may be mentioned here parenthetically 



NAVY EXPERIENCE ^^ 

that all the names of liowdoin students who at some time in 
the course of the war answered the nation's call, and consid- 
,vmg the size of the college the number is large, are inscribed 
on bronze tablets in the memorial building on the college 

campus. ., . T^. 1 

The exciting war meetings, held almost dady m Brunswick 
and thronged by multitudes, were enthusiastically attended 
l,v the students and members of the college faculty, at which 
meetings some of the latter made their first attempts at stump 
oratory There comes to mind in particular, and with strik- 
ing vividness, a ([uiet, soft-voiced, and exceedingly urbane 
professor, who, to the surprise of everyone, became possessed 
by the common enthusiasm. His sudd(m transformation from 
a person of exceptional mildness to one of extreme md.tary 
ardor presented an incongruity that provoked merriment 
among his acquaintances. His zeal brought him as an orator 
before these large, popular assemblies. At such times his 
vehemence occasionally got the better of his facility m ex- 
tempore speaking. Naturally he drew his figures from the 
experiences of the classroom, some of which are remembered 
for their aptness and force. Appealing to the young men 
in his audience, many of whom he had instructed m rhetoric, 
he would say, "The only gesture you have to learn now is, 
down in front," intimating a sabre-thrust. One unpremedi- 
tated comparison which he made was this: "The time has 
come " said he, "when we are to determine whether we are 
a naiion or a-or a-or a basket of chips." This man at 
length received a Colonel's commission and went to the tront 
with the 20th Maine. After he had gone, but before his mettle 
had been put to the test, the boys, still doubting their pro- 
fessor's soldiership, gathered in groups about the campus, 
would jokingly picture to one another his probable conduct 
in battle. They imagined that his instinctive politeness 
would cause him to commence an engagement somewliat aft- 
er the following manner. He would first cavalierly salute the 
enemv and then say: "Gentlemen, if you please, we shall now 
proceed to fire." But how completely his military record 
belies these predictions. No braver man or better soldier 
than Joshua L. Chamberlain served in either army. For he- 



20 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

roic conduct on the field, for soldierly bearing and honorable, 
almost death- giving wounds, he rose to the rank of major- 
general. AVith his brave troops, in a critical hour <\t Get- 
tysburg, he held "Little Round Top." For a gallant charge 
before Petersburg Grant made him a brigadier on the tield. 
And finally, when the collapse of the Confederacy came, and 
the great Lee was over-mastered by the silent man of Galena, 
this modest professor was intrusted by his chief with the de- 
tails of surrender at Appomattox. 

The gathering of the students at the station to see the 
train-loads of soldiers as they passed through the town, an 
almost daily occurrence, was a memorable event. It was in- 
teresting to note the cheerful faces and listen to the jovial 
talk of these fresh recruits, who seemed wholly thoughtless 
of the trials and perils they had voluntarily covenanted to 
undergo. In particular, the occasion is recalled when Col. 
Benjamin F. Butler passed through with his regiment. It 
was the only time I ever saw the dauntless chief, whose char- 
acteristic features have been so often pictured, sometimes in 
a spirit of admiration, often of detestation. As he stood on 
the rear platform of the last car, he made a brief speech, the 
purport of wliich I do not remember. I do remember that 
as the train pulled out, the regimental band played "The 
girl I left behind me," the tones gradually dying aAvay as 
they became more distant. One college episode of 1861, pa- 
thetic as reviewed at the distance of fifty years, was asso- 
ciated with the first Bull Run disaster. The president of the 
college, the courtly and revered Dr. Woods, had, up to the 
time alluded to, never given the slightest evidence of sym- 
pathy with the union sentiment that was engrossing the gen- 
eral thought. It had been observed, with much impatience 
and some ill feeling on the part of the students, that never 
once at afternoon prayers had the president made any allu- 
sion to the civil disturbance that was threatening the nation's 
life. On the afternoon of the day when news came of that 
pitiful rout in July, the students placed, in conspicuous let- 
ters, on a large canvas stretched above the chapel entrance, 
these words: "Pray for the country." Since the president, 
as he stood at the reading desk that day, had to fac(^ the uii- 



NAVY EXPERIENCE 



21 



pleasant admonition, it could not escape his notice. It is need- 
less to say that the hint was acted upon. 

The academic year 1862-3, which was my junior year, had 
l)(^en preceded by some of the momentous occurrences of the 
war. ( hief among these events are the battle of Bull Run, 
the Trent affair, the capture of Fort Donelson, the battle of 
Pittsburg Landing, the fight between the Monitor and the 
T^Ierrimac, the capture of 'New Orleans, and McClellan's ill- 
starred Peninsular Campaign. During the summer of 1862, 
when the national exigencies were appealing for renewed 
activity in raising troops, there were enrolled throughout the 
North, in addition to those already in the field, thousands of 
college students, whose patriotism had become too profoundly 
stirred to admit of their remaining longer in peaceful halls 
of learning. In fact, young men in every calling throughout 
the loyal states were in large numbers at this time deciding 
that duty demanded their example and strength in maintain- 
ing the integrity of the union. Not a little of their zeal, it 
may be said, was due to a desire to have some personal share 
in solving the question whether a republic like ours is capa- 
1)le of self-preservation. In my own case, two motives in 
particular induced me to prefer service in the navy rather 
than in th(^ army. These motives were, ill health resulting 
from a prolonged fever, it being my hope that life at sea 
would be physically beneficial, and the possibility of enter- 
ing that arm of the national service for one year only, after 
Avhieh time I might hope to return, as in fact I did, to finish 
the college course. 

On the 16th of August, 1862, in company with five New 
Hampshire boys of my acquaintance, I enlisted, or rather ship- 
ped, at Portsmouth, choosing that place rather than Charles- 
town, since I was desirous of being counted in the quota of 
uKni required from the Ncav Hampshire town where I lived. 
In my physical examination at the navy yard I got a first 
taste of the gruff sea-dog, an old surgeon, who from his blunt 
and coarse questioning evidently looked upon me as a veteran 
man-of-war 's-man, and not as the greenest kind of landsman. 
I might state here that up to this time I had never stepped 
upon the deck of a sea-going vessel. All went well with our 



22 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

sextet until it came to signing the shipping articles. One of 
our number, as it proved with too much assurance, proposed 
that we write our oAvn names. Being the oldest, it was nat- 
ural for him to sign first. As fate would have it, and no 
doubt it was partly due to nervousness, he allowed a large 
drop of ink to fall on the otherwise immaculate page, and 
as a result' of the mishap, came nigh being petrified, as did 
the rest of us, by a sudden outburst of nautical profanity, 
the first, but by no means the last, we were to hear in our 
twelve months' sailoring. The startling remark, as I clearly 

remember it, was, "You fellows are so smart." 

But the language itself, bad as it was, was nothing in com- 
parison with its forceful delivery. It is well known that in 
the vigorous use of profane oaths the sailor is siii similis. 

Previous to reporting for duty at Charlestown, we enjoy- 
ed two days of freedom in Boston, where at our hotel we met 
officers of the San Jacinto, the vessel which nine months be- 
fore had figured in the famous seizing of Mason and Slidell, 
an episode that threatened to entangle us upleasantly with 
England, and when Lincoln, with his neverfailing good sense, 
checked the popular clamor with the timely warning, ''One 
war at a time." Having purchased sailor outfits at Hanover 
square, we at length reported on board the receiving ship 
Ohio, at the Charlestown navy yard. The introduction to 
this ship, with its tAvo thousand sailors representing more than 
a score of nationalities, and with characters of every shade 
peculiar to such a motley crew, gave me the greatest shock 
of my life. Whatever ordeal I have been called upon to pass 
through at any other time is dwarfed by a comparison with 
this one. At the time of our arrival the Ohio was preparing 
foi* a visit by the Secretary of the navy. As new recruits we 
were stowed away in the background. Two or three among 
the fresh arrivals, who, like us, were being introduced to strange 
conditions, when ordered by a tall, red-nosed, pirate-visaged 
lieutenant to "get amidships," were inclined to be facetious, 
when he thundered out, "Damn you. don't you know what 
amidships means?" The fact was, none of us did. 

One of my early difficulties as a man-o-war's-man came in 
connection with the lashing up of a hammock. This achieve- 



NAVY EXPERIENCE 



23 



ment, when performed by an expert, is a work of art. My 
first effort in this line of duty fell so far short of success, that, 
instead of being neatly and firmly lashed, and, as a properly 
lashed hammock should be, able to stand on end, it showed 
the blankets painfully protruding at both ends, as well as 
between the slack turns of the cord, and instead of being able 
to stand erect, was so limp that, if held by the middle, the 
two ends would have touched underneath. Such was my sor- 
ry-looking hammock as I passed it the first morning to the 
sailor standing inside the hammock nettings to stow it away. 
He looked first at the hammock and then at me, and then made 
the crushing remark, which was prefaced by a smart oath, 
"You'd better go back to making hay."- It may not be gen- 
erally known that "haymaker" is, with the sailor, a wither- 
ing term of r.eproach. 

"Well do I remember August 24, my first Sunday on a man- 
of-war. The contrast between its attendant bustle and the 
quiet of the church-going Sunday I had previously known 
was extreme. Profanity instead of prayers. Hundreds of sun- 
burnt faces on every hand. Feet pacing and repacing the 
same planks times without number, aimless and apparently 
automatic in their action. Such is the imperfect picture of a 
holy day of rest on a receiving ship. But after a week of 
this strange life I began to adapt myself to the new condi- 
tions, and thus proved man's marvelous capacity for resig- 
nation when forced to meet the inevitable. I soon found 
myself fraternizing with these rough characters, and with 
surprising readiness becoming accustomed to life and fare on 
shipboard. Hard bread, cabbage soup, and colorless coffee 
were becoming daily less repugnant to the taste. The grim 
smiles of my companions, as we sat together by the hour in 
some port-hole of the old ship, and conversed in a make-the- 
best-of-it spirit, were somewhat comforting if in a measure 
forced. Here for the first time I met natives of Greece, one 
of whom carried with him a Greek poem in heroic measure. 
He was communicative and congenial, and as he possessed but 
a small stock of English, we played the part of teacher to each 
other. He was a fine figure, tall and well proportioned, and 
had a gentle and childlike spirit. 



24 AUTOBIOGRAIMIV 

Miu-li of llio disfoml'oi't 1 felt uas due to tlio uueeasiug 
»lin prruliar to such a pent up company. If 1 sal down and 
tried to tliink, the Avhisth^ and hoarse cry of the boatsAvain's 
mate, a horrid oUl Dutchnum. Avoukl scare away my thoughts, 
;ind iiHinediately my attention wouUl be absorbed with what 
was going on around nu\ As 1 beeame bt>tter acquainted Avitli 
saih^r character by actual intercourse, 1 found that, in excep- 
tional cases at h'ast, he is not altogethtu- tlie despicabk^ crea- 
ture I had been h^d to fancy him. In some of these rough men 
there were disckised, boneath an uninviting exterior, traces of 
culture and refinement, and sometimes iri their conversation 
there was remarked a discriminating acquaintance with what 
is best in literature: The presenc(> of such men in the navy 
was in most eases accounted for by habits of intcinpcranee. 
It may be noticed in passing, tliat Bunker Hill monunuMit was 
in distinct view from the Ohio. tli(> sight of wliich started 
grave reflections upon our national history and tlic making 
of history, a business we were lunv intently engaged in. 

(Occasionally, (ui visiting days, friends cann' on board the 
Ohio, and among them once a young girl, who had been one 
of my pupils the previous winter in a village school in JMaine. 
At the first sight of my sailor attire, so strange to her eyes, 
she burst into tears. 

Nearly exery day sonu> vessel's crew Avas drafted from our 
nund)er and sailed away to take part in the actualities of Avar. 
Tavo of these ships, the Housatonic and Ossipee, are renuMU- 
bered with special interest, as Ave saAv them later in Southern 
Avaters and (exchanged greetings Avitli such of their ercAvs as 
Ave had met at CharlestoAvn. As it happened, for several 
months tlie t'olloAving Avinter and spring, the Housatonic had 
anchorage next us on the blockade. She Avas a tine specimen 
of a fighting shij) of the Avooden type. Sh(> at last met a 
tragic end. Some time in the year 18B4, Avhile at her station 
before Charleston, she Avas surprised by a Confederate tor- 
pedo boat and sunk, and for a time lay Avith hei- masts shoAV- 
ing above 1h(> Avater. 

The only time in my lift> 1 have ever been guilt\- of resort- 
ing to brib(>ry Avas in an endeavor to be draft eel for the Ossi- 
pee. Sevei-al of us Avho had beeonu^ tiriMl of i"(>eeiviug ship 



NAVY KXPKHIKNCIO 25 

lil'c, l).v u coiiiinoM Hgrcciiiciil Iricd to iiilluciicc; tlie clerk in 
cliiii'K*' <>l" till' <li'af1ing to tak<! us as a part of the Ossipee's 
(;rc!w. I'>ii1 lliifc were evid(intly too many "in the game" for 
all to succeed. Of this 1 am certain, \ n(;ver saw my five dol- 
lars agnin. i\side Ironi the pecuniary loss 1 never had occa- 
sion 1o regret my failure at "grafting." 

It may be wortli recording that during the first two weeks 
of my service in llie navy grog was served daily to the men, 
and for the last tiine. I used to t;ike my phicc! in line with 
the others, and with them mai'clied liy the loremast, re(;eiving 
my allowance in a diininutive tin cup, but not to drink it, as 
by a previous understanding its allaying infiu(!n(;e was to be 
enjoycid as a second potation by the rmtn n(;xt in front of me. 
By distributing this favor I gained }i new friend each day. 

'^Fwo ol' our New lljimpshii-e cliums, l^^isk and Chipman, 
who were musicians, wei'e derailed for* tin; band ol* the Ohio; 
the four rcwnaining, — (Jreen, Hubbard, Ingalls, and mys(;lf, 
were placed in a draft of 300 m(!n destined for Philadcdphia. 
From Stonington to New York our trarisp(jr1ation was by 
water, this being my introduction to a steambont. From New 
York we went l;y rail through the ll;i,t .jer-sey count i-y, » route 
to be familiar in after years. 

If the Ohio had IxMm disagreeable, the I'rinceton proved 
to be much more so. It was more ci-ovvded, and was filthy 
b(;yond description. It had a more diversified and r(q)ulsive 
collection of m(^n, ji mi.xture of all the elements I Inid left aug- 
mented by "contrabrands." Here were iilso found blockade- 
running shipmasters, str;iight-haired Southerners, who were 
held MS prisoners of war. Tliest! ]att(!r were; naturally rest- 
less, surly, and inclined to be uncommunicative!; but once the 
ice was In-oken, they talked more frecdy, giving their views 
of the war and of its probfiblc issu(!, to th(!ir way of thinking, 
the dissolution of tin' (iiion. They h;id decided opinions re- 
garding Southern conniuindets. juid pr-edicted that the two 
Hills, one of Virginia and one of South Carolina, would event- 
ually prove to be the great military leaders of the South. 

1 found ga/ing on the Delaware River an interesting di- 
\'ersion, and used to watch it by the hour in the daytimc!, 
and at night, as 1 leaned on a broadside gun. would look 



26 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

through a port-hole at the silver path made across it by the 
rays of the full moon. For a time, owing to the crowded con- 
dition of the ship, 1 was obliged to sling my hammock be- 
neath the uncovered timbers of a casual deck, with nothing 
between me and the sky. I used to watch the silent stars till 
they became dim in my drowsy sight, and then in dreams I 
would leave the horrid ship and go away to a familiar moun- 
tain land and have bright visions of home. 

It was our fate to lie here on the Delaware for several 
weeks, with the navy yard close at hand, w^here the govern- 
ment's "sore task did not divide the Sunday from the week." 
The usual din on shipboard was greatly augmented by the 
clash of axes and the beating of hammers wdelded by ship- 
wrights. The New Ironsides, preparing under hurry orders, 
was but a few cable-lengths distant, and at that period of 
our naval development a formidable fighting machine it in- 
deed seemed to be. It sailed away the 22nd of September, 
to be M'elcomed by us a few months later at a critical hour 
before Charleston. 

The battle of Antietam, the climax of Lee's first serious 
attempt to invade the North, occurred September 16th and 
17th. This Union victory revived in a wonderful manner the 
spirits of the nation, which Pope's fiasco in the Second Bull 
Run had brought to a low degree of despondency. The ex- 
citing events occurring on land were watched by those on ship- 
board wnth feelings of intense anxiety or glad relief, as the 
issues were against us or in our favor. The greatest activity 
Avas at this time aroused in the North, as was apparent in 
the hasty equipping of troops and the hurrying of them to 
the front. Within a period of a few wrecks I saw at least 
one hundred thousand soldiers ferried across the Delaware, 
each crowded boat appearing one solid blue. 

After a time our blockade-running prisoners were remov- 
ed to Fort LaFayette. They were to be congratulated on their 
deliverance from the detestable receiving ship. Outwardly 
and practically their imprisonment had been the same as my 
own. The only difference was, that mine was voluntary while 
theirs was forced. Sailor life on the Princeton made a last- 
ing impression on my mind. The squeaking of the pump at 



NAVY EXPERIENCE 



27 



the head, and the thick-lipped, long-heeled workers at it are 
<listinct in memory to-day. After fifty years there still comes 
to me from the yard the clicking of caulkers' hammers. I 
can clearly see the particular joist where I sat of a morning 
and the very faces that were around me. Brutal fights were 
not uncommon on this ship. I used to characterize them as 
"dog fights between two men." These personal encounters, 
having their origin in a mean epithet or a dispute over a 
piece of bread, were often winked at by the officers, and some- 
times were fought to a finish under prize-ring rules. 

The general topography about Philadelphia, as it appear- 
ed to me. especially the flatness of the country in every direc- 
tion, impressed me unfavorably. Although I could see but 
little of the outskirts of the city, I imagined it to be unat- 
tractive. 1 then little dreamed that I was one day to have a 
home there and come to regard it quite differently. 

October 28 was an eventful day for us New Hampshire 
boys, because of a visit from the Augusta's first lieutenant, 
Mr. Henry L. Howison. He came in response to a letter one 
of our number had written to Enoch G. Parrott, commander 
of the Augusta, who was a native of Portsmouth, a compe- 
tent officer and a gentleman. In this letter a request had 
been made that we might be taken as members of the Augus- 
ta's crew. This Mr. Howison was a graduate of Annapolis, 
an ideal officer, and a man worthy of the highest respect. — 
afterwards the distinguished Admiral Howison, the ranking 
officer in our navy at the time of Dewey's reception in New 
York, in which imposing pageant he participated. The out- 
come of this interview — a most fortunate one for us. was. 
that we were accepted for the Augusta. We went on board 
this, our third vessel, at 3 o'clock. Friday. October 81. Things 
here had a more cheering and hopeful look. 

November came in this year with unprecedent cold. On 
the 7th there was a severe snowstorm accompanied by a ter- 
rific wind. Owing to the gale Ave dragged anchor and our 
vessel collided with the Atlantic, a Bath ship, and also with 
a small schooner. In disentangling the fouled anchor cable 
an opportunity Avas given for expert sailors to win promo- 
tion. An able seaman, by his efficient assistance in accom- 



'JH 



All'^^»nl(»Hl(.\l•ll^ 



pliNllliip; lliir< (IiIIk'hH \iitiU, won llic rii|ihiiiir\ nl lln' I ni'i'i'nMl li' 
III ill I ri- nJMiw III iTHiiiirriM III' jiiiiillii'i Kiiiil liy hiKiiif.' ' ' ji'ri'iii'h 
li'ini' ' III Ahpiiiw ii 1 1 li IN uiii'lli iiuliiip; lluil (Ui IIiih (ici-iihiuii 

IIm- iillli'i'l' III lllr ill iL iilir ul' llir Mlllllli^/ IIIIIhIi'I'H, |in' \' i(tllHl.V 

II IIIIIHIi'I' III lllr lllilrlllllll HI'I'Vil'l', jlliil n liiilli 1 1 1' lil'lllill 1 1 Kill III' I N, 
hllO\Vt*ll nil')* l|linlll|l'M III' II lll'lll'l ll'lli Htllioi 'I'lllH Dllf Vll'l.lll* 
Wllh n'lllnllllMil'i'il (•\'rl' lll'liM'WII nJH llllil Wriil liir I (IW'II I'iIh IT 
ilrrlllllip, lllil pi'lirllll II Mil II lldNN, ( 'l 1 1 M Mill I |i |r I rnri'iiM ulicc |llj|l' 
I'll llllil mill llliullll'l' iil'lii'i'l' llllilrl' nlli-'il liil' ill'illiki'lilii'MH 

(Ml Miiiiiliiy, Niivniilirr 't il wufi ii|i iiiii'Ihm ' niiil \w hiiiI 

I'll il W 11 \ riiilll llir <,>llilKr| <'ll\ Wllllr K'""!-' ili'WH I ln' I'l'lll 

wiii'i' \\i' IIM I llh' II ; '. Iiifili' I'liw liiilliiii, il liii'K"' Hiilf u lii'clnr 

\Vit Wi'l'r II II I I w il I ill III I III 1 1 Willi I'l'i'l Illj-'M III' I'i'l ii'l' (III I III' 1 1 lurk 
iiilr I imw liiiiiiil III Wii'l r fii inly iiif.' i/i'o^'iiiiiliN li\ I lir In luini I nry 

llli'l llllil, IIHll WIIH li'il I'lllllK pIlH'l'H liy till' I'Mlllllllill lull III' iil'l^'lllill 

Muiiii'i'M Sli'iiii^i' IIM il limy Ni'dii, il llllil iir\rr IhIuit iir 

I'i'il III nil' lliiil riiiliiililpliiti iM KM) iiiili'N li'iiin Mil' Mil 

Al S |i III Mil' ruToinl ilii\ iil'lrr pnfiHiiip;' SinilliH iHluiitl 
iiiiil ('ii|ir llriiiy w I' I'liiiii' III iiiirlior ill h'orlrrNH Moiiroi', a 

|ilinr ul M|ii'rilll llllrn'hl ilfi lirliif-'; Mir Mrriir ul' Mir IMonilur 
mill MrlllllUU H;-lll illl rli;'li;''rnh'lll Mill! I r \ u 1 1 1 1 lii 1 1 1 /I'l | iniU'llll' 
W'lirrilir li\ Mill iiiliniii;' Mir llliirlril iruinliid llrrr I sil \\ uin* 
ul Mil' niiiiiitur l.\|>i', ninl liinl Mir |>ii\ ilrj.";!' ul' \iNiliiif-'; il mnl 
III' i<\miiiiiiiiH iIh wmnltM'riil liinil mul MiirliMMi inch kiiii. Il 
WllN III l''urli'rNH IMunrui- llnil I lunl my I'h'nI drill \\ illi hiiimII 
lirillN, 111 IUIiIii'IiImI' miiI^Ii' mI irK |inirtiri' llrrr iiInu I si'l'ill) 
lii'il iii\ liiininiui Iv I'ur Mir lir:>l liiiir II W iin mi niiiI iirril uT 
il W ii;ill llif." , ;iu lii'^> I inii'il Wii'. il Willi llirn' iiiuiillis' iirriliiill 
liiliuii ul' I'l'iTiv iii^.' nIii|i lint All. I il wii-, hi'ii' Mini I iniidi' 
iii\ IIi'hI i<nhii,\ hi Mil' Niuluiiid iirl tin' iiiMiii^.', iiinl iiiiiKiii^' 
ul' il nImi'I «(>iiiIi' iiiilliiiill\ Mils jj;ii I'liiriil lunii'd uiil lu In- 
nIuiicIin tiiid ill lilliiif llir \aiiuii.'. |tiirlN wri'f m.M'riiri'ly 
lii'ld lu^'i'Miri li\ liiilnruu:il\ .rniln' Mlili'lir.s 'riim'Ndiiy, No- 
\''iiil'ii '' I wii'i uiir iniliuiiiil riiii iiKs)jfi\ 111^.":, mid il ucfiisiuiit'd 
llll\rd I lilt rl luir. Ill iii\ luc '' wliirli w il^ Ivi'pl sri'll |UlluUN 
\\ MiruiiKliuiil Mil" yrur, I liinl Mii;, iiiIin '(>in' vnr n^u lu 
dii\, ill nliuiil Mils liuiir I Wic mIIiiu- iipun n niuunliiiii side 

III Oilriid iii\ iiiilivr luwn iii '.Miiiin' 'I'lic diiN w iis mii.li IiIm- 
Mils Tlir Mim's Wiiinilli w ir. in'iirl.N lis J4irtil lis il is In-rc iiuw 



NAVV lOXI'MKIKNOlO 



39 



ill a. iiioi'c Noiillicfii liililiulc 'I'licii my cyrs mikI ihiikI witc 
fli^ii^^id ii|M»ii si'iiMS iiiiil I liKii^lils I'iir (IiU'ciiiiI I'lctin IliuSf 
which arc I'di'ccd ii|i(iii my ii I Iciil imi imw . Then I walchcd 
Ihc Niiiiil^c ciii'liii^' lip i'roiii ill) iilil rai'iiihdii.sc luur, which liiul 
HhclliTcil my cliildliood, T'lom Ihc wiiidiiijj;' riMT spiirMiii}^' 
rji,,VH cmillcd Irdm diiimoiids ol' lloaliiiK ;iiii'li<tr ice wi'i'c Ihi'uvvii 
iM'fOSS Ihc J^rccii lilcilduVVH where eat lie wci-c recdiii;,' To 
(hay I am amitiiK st raiif^crs, and Haihx'H al llial lii,slcail uj' 
iiiosN hcsiih' a lamiliat' roek, a^ lillle hit\ iiiHhr Ihc h-c oi' 
I lie hill walk alTdcds a- seat. liiHlea,d of simdic riom a riiHlic, 
cliimiiey. I lie ,siii()k('sla,cl( (»r a war'Hhip rises near me. No 
Thaiil<s}^i\'iiif^' dinner awails iiic hi'rc." A lew (hiys later, 
however, a box ol' dainly edihjes, previously heralded by 
Idler, eanie from home, a pleaHanl reminder of the New Miitj;- 
land Saliirnalia. 'These iiiiiisiial liixiiriis evoked Ihc jealousy 
and c\cii ndiciilc ol' my li'ss roi'liiiialc slii|»maics not all of 
whom could share my homily. 

On the roiirlh <d' \>ii-t{\i\>i\\ m riiHilmcnl of a rumor lluil. 
iiad prevailed I'oi' si'veral days, we starl('(| .south as a <'oiivoy 
to Banks's expcdilioii, wliieli whn dcHtiiicd I'or the (iulT, and 
we soon had a lastc ol' real life at sea,, a,n experienee sulll- 
cicntly inlcnsilied when we were |)asHinf< iU\.\u' llalleras in a, 
f^aie. Nearly all tin- en-w were seasicdc at llu* lime, I lie inex 
peri<'iiced landsmi'ii naliirally siiCrerin^^' most. When Ihc stoi'iii 
was al its Iieij4;lil and the sea roiif^hesl, I recall the a^^ony ol' 
ilulihard who was I'or the (irsi lime slandin^' lookout at llie 
masthead. As Ihe rolliiiji,' Aii^^iisla eansi-d him to make a 
Icn^^tliy ai'<- u^ainsl lln* lieav<'ns, Iuh whil(^ I'aec and shrink 
\U^ ii^lire were ohjeels pilil'ul 1o HCC. Al, lentj;l,li we passed 
Ui(! Ii}»:lil house a,l IIm^ soul hern exlremily of H'lorida ami 'w 
U-n'A\ Ihc Unit ol" Mexico, not, having in sif^hl. a sinj4l<' lians 
porl of those we were supposed lo he Kal'e^iuirdint,^. TliiH 
was on the elcveiHh (d' I )c<'ciiil»cr. 'The sea was calm diir 
iii^^ Ihe suceeedin}^ I WO days' sjiil, unlil we rea<'lied Ship Js 
land. This place we found low, Ka,ndy, forlorn, and in I'vcvy 
r(!8pect uni/ilci'eslint^', Here, as oni- of the third eiilter's crew, 
I had the opportunity lo K(» ashore. The occasion for IIiIk 
was, that at some lillle disliince fr<Mii the island an army 
Hteamer, named the (iirlew, was lyinj^ fast aj^roimd I hap 



30 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

pened to be one of the crew sent with kedge anchors to get 
her off. We made two futile attempts to relieve the stranded 
boat. While engaged in this work we had free access to the 
army stores, and helped ourselves to fresh hardtack, bacon 
and brown sugar. 

For some unknown reason Cuba was made our next ob- 
jective point, where we arrived the 21st of December. As 
we approached Cuba, it chanced that I was standing lookout 
at the masthead. It was my first experience in sighting land; 
and it was my duty to make known its first possible discovery. 
My sense-perception, wholly untrained in such duty, was put 
to a severe test. For a long time I watched the dim outline 
of what appeared to be mountains, but I was chary of an- 
nouncing my impression, for fear of taking for land what 
might prove to be only a bank of clouds. I was all the more 
wary because a few nights before a landsman, untrained like 
myself, had made himself an object of ridicule by shouting 
"Light ho'' when he saw the edge of the moon rising out of 
the water. At length, after long and painful deliberation, I. 
mustered courage to cry "Land ho." when "Papa" Heath, 
the good-natured sailing master in charge of the watch, rather 
contemptuously informed me that he had seen it for an hour 
and a half. About the middle of the afternoon of December 
21st we entered the channel leading to the city of Havana, 
passed under historic Moro Castle and anchored inside the 
harbor. This was my first sight of a foreign country, and 
it afforded me uncommon satisfaction. This quaint seaport 
I found peculiarly charming, both from natural environment 
and historic associations. As we were moving to a place of 
anchorage, a small buniboat containing a single "Dago," 
through some lack of caution on his part, was allowed to get 
in our way and was smashed beneath the Augusta's port pad- 
dle-wheel. The accident caused much excitement as it threat- 
ened certain death to the unfortunate man. But the occupant 
of the boat, as the sequel proved, dived in time to clear the 
wheel and save his life ; he shortly after came up astern un- 
harmed. The harbor was crowded with vessels of every de- 
scription, there being among them merchantmen, men-of-war, 
and blockade-runners. Some of them carried the Confederate 



NAVY EXPERIENCE 31 

flag. Here, for the first time, I saw the ''Stars and Bars," 
emblem of that new republic that, fortunately for us all, was 
not to be. As a war vessel representing a nation actually 
engaged in war, we were not permitted to remain in a neutral 
port longer than twenty-four hours, unless a war vessel of 
the enemy had left the port during our stay, when we would 
be required to remain in the harbor a certain length of time 
before leaving. While we were at anchor in the harbor of 
Havana, I was for two hours stationed on the starboard bow 
or cathead, to hail all approaching craft and to report to the 
quartermaster whatever answers were received. The replies 
that came up from the passing boats were various in tone 
and substance ; some were even sarcastic and discourteous. 
One coxswain of a small boat answered my "Boat ahoy" with 
"AYho the devil are you?" a reply I did not think it wise 
to repeat. 

From Havana we went to Key West, where we learned 
that about two weeks before the Confederate privateer Ala- 
liama had reached this side of the Atlantic on its dreaded 
mission, and that somewhere near the east coast of Cuba had 
captured the Ariel, one of the gold steamers plying between 
New York and the Isthmus. This piece of news sent us next 
to Aspinwall. or Colon, as it is now called, to convoy North 
any steamer that might be preparing to take passengers and 
treasure to the United States. We were seven days making 
the voyage through the Caribbean, and while they were days 
of anxiety, owing to the possibility of meeting the Confeder- 
ate privateer, they were in many respects the pleasantest of 
the year. We were now on our sea-legs and proof against 
seasickness. Although at times we had rough weather, the 
unsteady motion of the vessel was exhilarating rather than 
vexing. The hours passed asleep in a hammock at this time, 
though I was roughly jostled against my neighbor on either 
side, were deliciously restful. The experience on this Carib- 
liean voyage was such as to make me reflect that if to-day, 
while crossing the Atlantic, we could but sleep in a hammock, 
swinging free, instead of being stifled in a close stateroom, a 
trip to Europe would be relieved of much of its discomfort. 
I recall many pleasant conversations I had during these days 



32 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

with a sailor named Ryley, who was acting as lieutenant's 
clerk. He was a cultivated man, and yet a sailor to the man- 
ner born. We used to lean over the side during an off-watch 
and enjoy the summer-like breeze of an afternoon, observing 
the clouds "backed like a whale." and discussing Polonius 
and Hamlet. We would try to quote accurately from memory 
passages out of Shakespeare, and in particular the oft-quoted 
one from Macbeth, — 

"If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
It were done quickly." 

As Ryley 's geographical knowledge was of the reliable 
sailor kind, in our various movements from place to place 
he would explain most intelligently whatever was new and 
of interest to me. At times, following the example of others, 
I went barefoot, the extreme heat making it a luxury. Upon 
the whole, I have retained an exceedingly agreeable memory 
of the Caribbean sea. It may be worth recording, that we 
made but a single sail during the seven days. 

We arrived at Asqinwall the last day of the year. As, 
in accordance with an arrangement between our government 
and this port, the natives were employed to coal ship, our crew 
while here had only trivial duties to perform, and consequent- 
ly enjoyed a season of rest. About the only thing to be done 
was the keeping of anchor watch. Even the squilgeeing of 
the decks had to be remitted owing to the prevalence of coal 
dust. One night while standing lookout on the forecastle from 
12 to 2, I experienced to the fullest extent the drenching of 
a tropical rain, and received such a soaking as I wished never 
to undergo again. Just before leaving Aspinwall, and when 
we were anchored some little distance from the wharf, a re- 
port came that there was a riot on shore, and two-thirds of 
our crew, armed with rifles, were sent to assist in quieting 
the disturbance. As it turned out, their aid as mob-quellers 
proved to be unnecessary. Three able seamen of our crew 
deserted at this place, one of them being the man who won 
distinction at the time of the storm on the Delaware. 

On the 9th of January we left Aspinwall in company with 
the Champion, the gold steamer we were to guard on its pas- 



XAV'Y EXPERIENCE 33 

age North. This steamer was forced to proceed at our slow 
rate, ten knots or so, and for seven days we kept company 
with her. all the while on the lookout for the Alabama, which 
would naturally rather capture gold than anything else. Our 
apprehensions from this quarter were not realized, and for- 
tunately so for us, as our vessel, a former Savannah packet 
and a side-wheeler, with boilers and machinery exposed, would 
have been no match for the rakish privateer, though the lat- 
ter 's crew and armament were both inferior to ours. It may 
be stated here, that it was subsequently learned that the Ala- 
bama after crossing our southward track had gone to Gal- 
veston, and that somewhere outside the harbor liad engaged 
and sunk the United States gunboat Hatteras. the only arm- 
ed vessel, except the Kearsarge, she ever encountered in her 
eighteen months of commerce-destroying. Her ultimate fate 
off Cherbourg is well known. On the 14th day of January 
Ave passed to the east of Cuba, and two days later parted 
company with the Champion, leaving her to make the remain- 
der of the voyage alone. 

Port Royal. S. C. our next objective point, was reached 
Sunday. January 18. As we passed from the Gulf Stream 
and n eared the coast, the sudden change from summer heat 
to a chilling temperature was exceedingly disagreeable. I have 
rarely at any time of my life been so unpleasantly affected 
by the cold. Not only were we thinly clad, but the vessel, 
like all war vessels, was without available artificial heat. On- 
ly by walking the deck resolutely were we able to relieve in 
a measure our benumbed limbs. 

It will be remembered that in November. 1861. Port Rojal. 
from a strategic point of view one of the most important places 
on the Southern coast, was taken by an expedition under Du- 
pOnt and Sherman. The Augusta was one of the vessels com- 
posing Dupont's fleet at the time. Many of our crew had 
taken part in the fight and were able to give a graphic ac- 
count of the manoeuvres of the ships. 

It was at Port Roj^al that we got our first "liberty," when 
Ave had an opportunity to visit the soldiers on Bay Point. 
Through some misunderstanding we were put ashore on a 
small island, where Ave Avere completely shut off from the 



34 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

main land by a deep inlet of considerable width. There was, 
consequently, nothing to do but swim to the other side. With 
our clothing hastily wound about our heads we plunged into 
the water and soon reached the farther shore. I remember 
being the first to complete the crossing, but not until I had 
subjected my clothes to a pretty thorough wetting. One poor 
fellow, an inexpert swimmer, in the effort to get over, came 
nigh being drowned. He was rescued by a shipmate, who, 
on returning to the ship, was complimented for his gallantry. 
The soldiers found at Bay Point were a part of a New Hamp- 
shire regiment, among whom were men who knew persons of 
my acquaintance. 

Our chief business during the week at Port Eoyal was 
coaling ship, the coal being taken from a schooner brought 
alongside. It was a slow process, and particularly difficult, 
as we were frequently interrupted by rain and rough weather. 
There is an interesting episode connected with the coaling. 
In view of the sailor's well known addiction to strong drink, 
the masters and crews of coaling schooners were accustomed 
to carry a supply of liquor, which the war-vessel's crew had 
but little difficulty in smuggling aboard. A demijohn of whis- 
key was obtained by the Augusta's men and secretly placed 
in the forecastle, where it was carefully guarded and made 
accessible to the knowing ones. It was not long before a 
majority of the bluejackets were initiated, and as a result 
were ''half -seas over." They presented a most ludicrous spec- 
tacle to those of us who remained sober. Though at first the 
cause of so unusual eccentricity of conduct was not under- 
stood, the true situation was not long concealed. The actions 
of the second boatswain's mate, a tall, lank, generally good- 
natured fellow, were particularly amusing. He was a little 
tipsier than the average, but feeling his responsibility as a 
petty officer, he tried to maintain his dignity by giving absurd 
orders and in futile attempts to blow his whistle. He had 
been one of the most active in procuring the grog, and, while 
himself exposing the real situation by his speech and unsteady 
carriage, comically warned the others to be extremely careful 
not to let the secret out. 

Sunday, January 25, found us stationed on the blockade 



NxVVY EXPERIENCE 35 

before Charleston, where we were to remain nearly five months, 
and where we were to witness and take part in events more 
or less exciting. The blockading fleet consisted of a dozen 
or more vessels, ours being next to the Housatonic, previously 
mentioned, which was about three-quarters of a mile distant 
from us and was at the northern extremity of the line. The 
Housatonic, being the ranking vessel of the fleet at the time 
of our arrival, was of course the flagship. 

At times, on the blockade, we felt the cold disagreeably, 
though generally the temperature was not inhospitable. Al- 
most every night, by signal rockets sent up from forts Sumter 
and Moultrie and from various places along the beach, we 
were apprised that blockade runners were stealing their way 
into or out of Charleston, being guided by these Confederate 
lights, which had for the officers a secret meaning. It was 
usual for our crew to be called to quarters at least once each 
night to attend to these alarms. At such night musters it 
was customary to slip anchor and run about somewhat at 
random in the darkness, looking, generally in vain, for the 
evasive steamers that were carrying arms in and cotton out 
in the interest of the Confederacy. The process of "slipping 
anchor" was as follows: The cable was parted near the place 
where it enters the starboard bow, the end of the detached 
portion being joined to a hawser with buoy attached; the 
buoy was then thrown overboard to remain on the surface 
over the anchor; the latter could then be located by daylight 
and picked up. Perhaps the most lasting remembrance of 
the blockade is the order, "Slip anchor." This, it must be 
remembered, was before war vessels were provided with search- 
lights. Steam alone, it may be observed, made possible even 
such a blockade as ours then was. The searchlights with which 
our vessels are now supplied would make blockade run- 
ning almost impossible. It is to be noted that the vessels 
engaged in running the blockade were provided with power- 
ful engines and were built for speed; the officers, moreover, 
were highly efficient, many of them having served in the Brit- 
ish navy. Though these wary steamers were generally suc- 
cessful in avoiding capture, once in a while they were unfor- 
tunate, missed their bearings, and ran aground. One such. 



30 AUTOBiOGKAPllV 

the Priucuss Royal, was captured a few days after we arrived 
before Charleston. Six of her crew, as 1 remember, were 
brought aboard the Augusta. 1 afterwards received one hun- 
dred dollars in prize money as my share in this capture. The 
rule governing the distribution of prize money Avas. that the 
officers and men of all vessels in sight of the prize wlu'u taken 
were to share, eaeh portion beiug greater as the recipient's 
official station was higher. Firing at these tricky crafts was 
quite common every night along the whole extent of our line. 
The tlash of the guns was often seen Avhen the distance was 
too great for the sound to be heard. On the morning of the 
last day of January, at about four o'clock, we were hurriedly 
called to quarters to witness an unusual demonstration in 
the southern portion of our tieet. There Avas brisk firing there, 
and it was evidently not one-sided. Flash answered flash, 
and it soon dawned upon us that the long predicted rams, 
two in number, had at last made a sally from Charleston 
intent upon breaking up the blockade. It was the eager hope 
of the Confederates, that by destroying the effectiveness of 
our fleet at so important a port as Charleston, and opening 
the door there to commerce, they would gain recognition by 
foreign powers. In some way our officers had been informed 
of the building of these rams, which, as it proved, were ferry 
boats strongly armored with railroad iron, and consequently 
they were on the lookout for them. When, at daybreak, the 
rams were dimly discovered through the mist, the Augusta 
opened fire with "Gentle Annie," our 100-pound Parrott, of 
which gun's crew I was a member. A broadside followed 
quickly from our guns. This brought a return fire from the 
Confederates. One of their shot hissed distinctly over our 
heads, another passed shrieking astern, and a third, a nine- 
inch shell, after ricochetting from the water, struck and pierc- 
ed our starboard side, and after cutting in two a row of 
hammocks Avhich had but a short time before been vacated 
by their occupants, lodged in the port side of the ship. It 
made a large opening where it enter(*d, but well above the 
water line. Fortunately, it did not explode. This little skir- 
mish Avas the only occurrence in which I had the sensation 
of being under fire. As the tide was going out and a treach- 



NAVV EXPERIENCE 37 

crous bar must be crossed, the rams, much to our relief, with- 
drew to Charleston, never afterwards to trouble our fleet. As 
a result of the raid, they had captured one of our vessels, 
which in the circumstances they were unable to hold, and 
also had crippled another, and had killed or wounded a dozen 
Union sailors. It may be of interest to state that the Con- 
federate officer, Col. Parker, who was in command of one of 
the rams, gives in his reminiscences of the war an interesting 
account of his side of the affair. Commander Parrott was 
at once despatched to Port Royal to communicate with Ad- 
miral Dupont. After performing this duty he immediately 
returned to Charleston, to find that all had been quiet during 
our absence. On February 4 the New Ironsides came to 
strengthen us against further attack from Charleston. 

It was about this time that General Foster's troops were 
collecting on Morris Island, a preliminary to cooperation with 
the fleet in an attempt to take Charleston, the one place, Rich- 
mond excepted, which the North was most desirous of cap- 
turing, and yet one of the very last of the strongholds of the 
South to be taken, and then not from the sea, but by Sherman's 
attack on the unprotected land side. 

I recall, as one of the little incidents of the blockade, that 
I once pulled an oar in the third cutter which was sent to meet 
a flag of truce from Charleston. The import of the communi- 
cation was. of course, never known. I rememl)er, in particular, 
the eourleous Avav in which Ihe officer in charge of the flag 
of truce cautioned his men agninst clashing with our boat as 
they came alongside. 

During the daytime, while we were before (.'harleston, monot- 
ony prevailed for the greater part of the time. The old sailors 
spun yarns, and I was permitted to hear many an interesting 
pei-sonal history. 1 remember with particular distinctness old 
Dick Drew's account of how he came to decide suddenly to 
go to sea. He was a boy at school in Liverpool, and becom- 
ing involved in some breach of discipline, he threw his slate 
at the master's head, jumped out of the window, and took 
refuge on a vessel that was just ready to sail : and before 
he realized what he was doing, he found himself going down 
the Mersey, repenting too late of his rash act. but having taken 



38 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the initiative in a course of life which was to make him what 
he called a "d — d old reprobate." Another told his experi- 
ence on a slaver loaded with negro captives. Their vessel 
was in danger of being overhauled by a man-of-war, when, 
in order to destro}' all evidence of carrying the unlawful cargo, 
the blacks were made to stand in a row and to be fastened to 
the anchor cable, the intention being, as a last resort, to let 
the anchor go and drag the wretched creatures with it to the 
bottom of the ocean. 

It was amusing to listen to the discussions that took place 
between the wise ones of the crew on the progress of the war. 
The yeoman, named Murphy, was particularly eloquent in dis- 
coursing upon the relative abilities of our generals. The army 
of the Potomac, which was so often discomfited by the superior 
generalship of Lee, until at last he yielded to the persistent 
hammering of Grant, was a common theme of discourse. Burn- 
side's star had gone down at Fredericksburg. "Fighting Joe" 
Hooker, who had succeeded Burnside, was our yeoman's ad- 
miration. It was an inspiration to hear Murphy expatiate 
upon his hero, who, he confidently predicted, was to do up 
the Confederacy in short order and march triumphantly into 
Richmond. But what a fall was there! Hooker's pitiful fail- 
ure M'as one of the saddest disappointments of the war. Papers 
from the north and letters from home were received fort- 
nightly and greatly relieved the tedium. Especially every 
scrap of news relating to the conduct of the war was read 
with eagerness. The bitter issues of Fredericksburg and Chan- 
cellorsville produced a feeling of despondency, that happily was 
to be relieved by Yicksburg and Gettysburg. 

Books were so scarce on our ship as to be a luxury. I 
had brought from home and carried constantly inside the 
bosom of m}^ shirt a small volume of Byron's select poems, 
which I read, reread, and memorized so thoroughly that I 
have never cared for the author since. Hubbard had brought 
with him a copy of Tennyson. This also was read and nearly 
devoured, but with a result quite different from that produced 
by reading Byron. I have had a growing love for Tennyson 
ever since. In the delights derived from reading his poems 
one feels that "the appetite grows with what it feeds on." 



XAVV EXPERIENCE 39 

Somewhere among the ship's crew, I think in the possession 
of the sergeant of marines, a copy of Victor Hugo's Les Mis- 
erables was discovered. This I was fortunate enough to bor- 
row. During off watches I read the story to an attentive 
group of sailors, often fifty or sixty at a time, as we sat to- 
gether tailor fashion on tin- deck. Each day as the reading 
progressed, new listeners would gather on the outer circle 
and become interested in the enchanting novel. At the close 
of each day's reading the late-comers remained to get an 
outline of that part of the story they had missed. These re- 
views made all the incidents and details of the book so fa- 
miliar to me, that they have persisted in memory as the 
substance of no other work of fiction has ever done. No 
experience of the year, as I look back upon it. produced so 
agreeable an impression as did these readings from Hugo's 
masterpiece. This particular work of fiction, as it has come 
to be well known, was, during the war, a great favorite with 
the soldiers and sailors of both the North and the South. 
Some waggish soldier, it is said, seeing a forlorn-looking com- 
pany of Confederate prisoners, called them "Lee's Miserables. " 
As Washington's birthday this year came on Sunday, our 
fleet deferred all celebration of the event until Monday. But 
not so the Confederates. At noon on Sunday forts Sumter 
and Moultrie fired salutes, and in the evening both were for 
hours ablaze with fireworks. This demonstration naturalh^ 
gave rise to strange musings, the thought that forces so an- 
tagonistic in patriotic temper could po.ssibly be vying with 
each other in doing honor to the same man, the hero of what 
had been their common country. Quite naturally, both sec- 
tions claimed "Washington. He was, indeed, even during the 
four years' conflict, alwaj^s a kind of bond between the North 
and South, a bond ever most reluctant to break. It was, in 
fact, never wholly severed, but remained an abiding influence 
to draw the disaffected states back to their allegiance after 
the war. It is a blessed national hope we have, that Wash- 
ington will continue to be a central magnet, attracting all 
parts of the republic to himself, and consequently to one 
another. Whenever we left the blockade, it was usually to 
go to Port Royal for coal or to make repairs. Here we had 



40 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

opportunities to go ashore aud to wander about at our sweet 
will. It was a strangely populated place. Contrabands had 
collected here in great numbers and constituted much the 
larger part of the population ; and to us from the north they 
were an anmsiug throng. In one out of the way place I found 
the tent of an army sutler who had with him his little daugh- 
ter. She seemed most unnaturally placed amid such surround- 
ings. She was the only white person of woman kind I had 
seen for months. The old ship-of-the-line Vermont was the 
store ship at Port Royal. She had served as a transport in 
Dupont and Sherman's expedition, having on board several 
regiments of soldiers. The history of her stormy passage was 
often told with much partic\darity. On the voyage her rudder 
was carried away in a gale, and for several days she drifted 
at the mercy of the waves, until her ingenious boatswain con- 
trived a steering gear by which she was enabled to reach 
her destination. While we were at Port Royal, near the end 
of March, four monitors and several transports with troops 
on board left suddenly, going in the direction of Charleston, 
an omen of the beginning of active operations before that city. 
It was afterwards learned that the destination of these ves- 
sels was the little harbor at the mouth of the North Edisto 
river, which had been made the rendezvous of our ironclads 
and other vessels until the time should come for making the 
attack on Charleston. This obscure Edisto inlet is a snug, 
deep and weU protected port, and in many ways a fascinating 
place. It is the one place above all others in the South, 
Charleston excepted, I have wished I could revisit in time 
of peace. The secluded harbor, narrow and safe, in which 
vessels are sheltered behind the Edisto island, gave a sense 
of restful quiet. It is situated about midway between Charles- 
ton and Port Royal. AVe went there on the 4th of April and 
passed the night at anchor. We found ourselves closely shut 
in by pleasant shores bordered with trees and here and there 
grassy fields. Occasionally there was espied a dwelling among 
the moderate hills. If inhabitants were there at the time, 
they kept out of sight. They may have been there in con- 
cealment, and though themselves unseen, yet have been able 
to observe our fleet. If so. its appearance must have been 



NAVY EXPERIENCE 41 

hateful to them. On a slight elevation, half a mile away, 
stood, a small white church resembling very much a New 
England meeting house. The Confederates, so Southern writ- 
ers upon the war tell us, were accustomed to use the steeple 
of this church as a lookout ; and later in the war, as Colonel 
Parker relates, a considerable Confederate force was sent there, 
transporting small boats overland, with the purpose of seiz- 
ing the ironclads that were then lying there. The project 
was in some way divulged to our officers, and in consequence 
failed. As it happened, at the time of our stay in this cozy 
harbor, I had the third night watch on the forecastle, where 
I struck the bells half hourly, supplementing the ringing with 
the cry of "Starboard cathead." The night stillness in the 
harbor, where at least fifty craft of various kinds were lying 
at anchor, was decidedly oppressive. One solitary voice, re- 
peated after short pauses for some time, came from a schooner 
that was moving to a place of anchorage. It was the musical 
strain emitted by the man throwing the lead, who measur- 
edly sang, "By the deep seven." At times during this watch 
it was with the greatest difficulty that I overcame a persistent 
inclination to fall asleep. As I walked back and forth by 
the side of the little brass howitzer, I even found it necessary 
to pinch myself in various parts of the body to ward off 
drowsiness. On this particular night I found myself indulg- 
ing in a most pessimistic mood : life has never at any other 
time seemed so little worth living. For the moment I seemed 
to have lost all ambition, and looked forward with complete 
satisfaction to the obscurest existence possible. Like Horace, 
all I wanted was a few acres traversed by a singing brook 
and with a background of tall shadowy trees. The following 
day, which was Sunday, we took the monitor Passaic in tow 
and returned to Charleston, cheered by the thought that we 
should soon see the capture of that much offending city. 

At about 3 p. m., April 7, the first federal gun from our 
ironclad fleet was discharged at Fort Sumter, a prelude to 
the general attack. A continuous fire was kept up by six 
of the monitors, the turtle-backed ironclad Keokuk, and the 
New Ironsides. For an hour and a half the fighting was 
fierce on both sides, when the New Ironsides and two of the 



42 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

monitors withdrew, apparently to engage some shore batteries. 
A little later all the remaining vessels retreated in like manner. 
To those of us who were mere onlookers it seemed likely that 
the attack would be resumed on the following day, but the 
expectation was not to be realized. The only serious casuality 
to our lleet in this attack was the sinking of the Keokuk. 
This type of ironclad was an experiment, and in this first 
trial proved its inferiority to the monitor. Ten of the Keo- 
kuk's crew w^ere killed and several wounded, among the latter 
lier commander. One of the monitors w^as, hit over ninety 
times, as marks on her turret and hull showed. I had seen, 
at a safe distance and with a clear and favorable view, the 
tirst fight in which an ironclad fleet had ever engaged, and 
had realizt'd a boyish conceit I once had, of seeing a real 
engagement of forces in w^ar without participating in it my- 
self. The Confederates very naturally claimed a victory. The 
government at AVashington, though having expected impos- 
sibilities, was greatly disappointed. Admiral Dupont's pres- 
tige was hopelessly injured, and as a sequel Admiral Dahlgren 
succeeded to the command of the North Atlantic squadron, a 
position in which he won no laurels. 

On the 26th of April, in obedience to an order b.y the 
government, our entire ship's crcAv were required to take the 
oath of allegiance. 

On May 12th, a small rowboat containing a lone contra- 
band was seen coming towards us from Charleston. The ven- 
turesome darky, who called himself "Ned." was picked up 
and taken on board. His first ejaculation after coming over 
the side was, "Stonewall Jackson's dead." This was the 
first news we had of the battle of Chaneellorsville, a signal 
disaster to the Union arms, a disaster, however, in some meas- 
ure counterbalanced by the South 's irreparable loss in the 
death of one of her greatest generals. 

We left the blockade for good the 29th of May and went 
to Port Royal. As we were about to enter the latter harbor, 
through the carelessness of the sailor heaving the lead we 
got into the shallow water before we were aware of it and 
the Augusta's bottom touched the ground, causing constern- 
ation to our officers. Commander Parrott in particular. For- 



NAVY EXPERIENCE 43 

tunately no harm resulted. The man to whose neglect the 
accident was due, was courtmartialed, with just what result 
is not remembered. Our lieutenant, Mr. Howison, left us June 
8th, to serve on one of the monitors. I was of the boat's crew 
that conveyed him to his new post. As he took leave of us, 
]ik(^ the gentleman he was, he shook hands with each of the 
cutter's crew. 

On July 6th. we started North, having on board Admiral 
Dupont, who was now to return to private life. Owing to 
our distinguished passenger, our departure was preceded by 
salutes and the manning of the yards, as is customary at such 
a time, which observance was participated in by the frigat-e 
Wabash, also a French frigate, and other warships in the 
harbor. The three days' voyage to the mouth of the Dela- 
ware was uneventful. Even stormy Hatteras for once allowed 
a friendly passage. We left Admiral Dupont at Wilmington. 
As he was about to go over the side, where officers and side- 
boys were duly arranged to show him the last naval honors 
he Avas ever to receive, he chanced to espy among the crowd 
of bluejackets a white-haired old sailor, who had cruised with 
him up the Mediterranean many years before. He abruptly 
turned away from those who were standing ready to pay him 
respect, pressed his Avay in among the throng, and took the 
old Scotchman by the hand. "McPherson. " said he. in an 
affectionate tone of voice, ''I remember you." Dupont was 
always in great esteem with his officers and men. Young 
officers liked to serve under him. Probably no finer character 
has ever graced our naval service. It is gratifying to find 
that his merits are recognized at the National Capitol in the 
"Dupont Circle," from which radiate some of the beautiful 
avenues of that beautiful city. 

It was at Wilmington that we first learned of the victories 
at Gettysburg and Vicksburg. The joyful news was electri- 
fying to a degree indescribable, and was taken as an omen 
of the final triumph of the Union. 

To give further variety to our year's experiences, we were 
sent on a short cruise off Cape Cod, to protect our fishermen, 
who had recently been harassed by small venturesome sailing 
craft, acting the part of privateers. We visited Block Island, 



44 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Holmes' Hole, Provineetowii, aiul Nautucki't. Catching cod- 
fish was our onlj^ excitement while on this brief excursion. 

We moored the Augusta at the Brooklyn navy j^ard the 
last day of July, and then went on board our third receiving 
ship, the North Carolina, familiarly known as the "Old North," 
where we were paid off and had the satisfaction of presenting 
a field glass to our gentlemanly sailing master, Mr. Holly. 
As I went down the side, bag in hand and hammock on shoul- 
der, the latter now lashed in a seamanlike manner, 1 heard 
from a porthole above me some one say. "Hello, Bowdoin," 
and looking up I saw an old sailor whom I had met on the 
Ohio nearly a year before. He had evidently forgotten my 
name, but remembered that of my college. 



CHAPTER III. 

TEACHING EXPERIENCE. 

AFTER leaving college I came at once to a close view 
of the most critical and disheartening problem the 
impeciinions graduate ever has to face — the question 
of choosing a pursuit as a means of obtaining a livelihood. 
It is a pitiful situation, when one is thus thrown upon the 
world, to find that there is no place prepared for him. Hith- 
erto there has been for even the indigent student no serious 
thought beyond the day; but now, when he must think of 
and provide for the morrow and an indefinite future, the pros- 
pect is a gloomy one. I at first chose law as a profession, 
and for three months, in the fall of 1864, read Blackstone 
and Kent in a law office at Lancaster, the county seat. But 
like many another in similar circumstances, I felt the pressing 
need of money and sought relief in teaching,- — in the first 
instance in a large village school, where I received the then 
princely salary of 50 dollars a month. This was the turning 
point; it settled what my life business was to be. From this 
time on, without a break for 46 years, I was to be a school- 
master engaged in secondary schools, and for 43 of these years 
Avas to be a principal. In the spring of 1865 I Avas an as- 
sistant in Bridgton Academy, Maine. In May of the same 
year I went to Cooperstown, N. Y., and was engaged as an 
assistant in Cooperstown Seminary, where I continued until 
the summer of 1867, when I was recalled to Bridgton Acad- 
emy as principal, to hold the position until the summer of 
1870. I was then recalled to Cooperstown to become principal 
of the Union School and Academy of that place. Here I re- 
mained twenty years and one term. During the next four 
years I was principal of the Worcester (Mass.) Classical High 
School ; and then for three years was head of the Philadelphia 
High School for Girls. From 1897 to 1910 I was principal 
of the Wadleigh High School for Girls. This is one of the 
first three high schools established in Manhattan and the Bronx. 
I retired at the end of the academic year 1910. 



46 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

At this point it seems proper to give a more complete ac- 
count of my service in the various schools enumerated. Ref- 
erence has already been made to my first term of teaching, 
in my home district. The next winter, that of my freshman 
year, I taught at Berlin Falls, N. H., a small village of most 
primitive character. With but two or three exceptions the 
houses in this place, the schoolhouse among them, were un- 
painted and of rather poverty-stricken appearance. Where 
now there is a city of 12,000 inhabitants, there was then, 
clustered about one of the three noted waterfalls of the An- 
droscoggin, a dozen or more families who were chiefly in- 
terested in lumbering. Among my pupils were two intelligent 
young ladies, who spent the winters with their parents in 
Berlin, where their father was extensively engaged in logging. 
This family had a good supply of books and periodicals. To 
them I owe my introduction to Tennyson, as I had the privi- 
lege of borrowing the Idyls of the King. It Avas at Berlin 
that I had my first experience with truants. If there chanced 
to be a wreck on the railroad, some of the boys would be 
missing. How to deal with such cases was a problem that 
kept me awake nights. One chronic case was a boy who seem- 
ed determined not to go to school despite all influences that 
could be brought to bear upon him. On one of his truant 
days, as I happened to look through the window about ten 
o'clock, I observed this boy coming towards the schoolhouse 
closely followed by his father, the latter vigorously applying 
a switch to the youngster's legs. Immediately the door was 
unceremoniously opened, and the boy thrust headlong into the 
middle of the room. He gathered himself up, sheepishly took 
his seat, and proceeded to the business of the day as if noth- 
ing unusual had happened. He was not asked for an excuse 
for lateness. An incident of the first day in this school is 
so exceptional that mention should be made of it. Quite with- 
out design, that morning, I asked a boy to shut the door, and 
by thanking him in a polite manner I won the esteem and 
loyalty of the worst boy in school. Many times, in various 
places, I tried the same thing afterwards, but without signal 
success. 

My winter vacation of sophomore year was spent in the 



TEACHING EXPERIENCE 47 

village of North AVaterford, Maiue, where single-handed I was 
supposed to give instruction to eighty pupils, of all ages 
from five to twenty. How far below the ideal my work there 
must have been may be readily imagined. Yet, judged by 
appearances and general report, I came nearer spelling the 
word "success" in this school than ever in any other place. 
The chairman of the school committee, for some reason, took 
a liking to me and sounded my praises accordingly. He in- 
sisted upon my being present at the Town Meeting in March, 
to hear his report. His complimentary reference to the North 
Waterford school was fulsome almost to offensiveness. This 
school had one singular feature, the ability on the part of 
all the pupils to converse with their fingers deaf-mute fashion. 
This state of things was due to the influence of a very popular 
family of deaf mutes who lived in the place. Though this 
practice was annoying to the teacher, especially as he did 
not understand what was said, it had the virtue at least of 
being a noiseless kind of whispering. Communication by this 
means Avas necessarily public, as all who could see the moving 
fingers knew what was said. It was not uncommon even at 
church, during the service, to see a girl in the choir, with 
her hand dropped below the gallery railing, conversing with 
some friend in one of the pews. 

After teaching a term in the winter of 1865, in Gorham 
village, I was engaged for one term as an assistant in Bridg- 
ton Academy, at North Bridgton, Maine. Here I came in 
contact with a rare class of students, young men and young 
women. They were mostly poor in worldly possessions, but 
eager for knowledge to a degree I have never seen surpassed 
elsewhere. Many came from the stony farms of Oxford County. 

One morning in April the old stage-driver was seen to 
stop his coach in front of the academy, a most unusual thing 
for him to do, and climb the hill holding a newspaper in his 
hand. This he gave to the principal. It contained the thrill- 
ing announcement of Lee's surrender. The paper, as yet un- 
read, was brought to the door of my classroom and handed 
to me with a request that the class be brought out to complete 
a full assembly. I was then asked to read the most important 
despatch ever wired in this country. The cheers that followed 



48 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the reading were the loudest and heartiest that ever awoke 
the echoes in that old hall. 

From Bridgton Academy I went as an assistant to Coop- 
erstown Seminary, at Cooperstow^n, N. Y., a village -^here, at 
two different times, 1 was to live nearly twenty-three years. 
CooperstoAvn is of unusual interest to me, in that I resided 
so long in one of the most attractive places in this or any 
other country. Besides, during the three years of my first 
residence there, I was associated with a school of rare quality 
as regards the student body. This was true in particular 
of the young men, a large number of whom had just been 
given back by the army to citizen life. They were somewhat 
beyond the school age, were of rich experience and seriously 
studious. 

I was now recalled to Bridgton Academy as principal, 
where for nearly three years I" taught Greek and Latin and 
began to prepare students for college. Here I was not only 
the executive of the school, but taught classes regularly, — 
even did teaching both before and after school hours. From 
the point of view of hard work and exhaustion, this was the 
most strenuous period of my life. The results of these hard 
years, so far as scholarship is concerned, were most satisfac- 
tory. I am not a little proud of the after-lives of the young 
men I sent to college from North Bridgton. 

Again I was called to Cooperstown, to become both su- 
perintendent and principal of the public schools of the place, 
rather, it should be said, a combination school known as the 
Cooperstown Union School and Academy. This position I 
held for twenty years and one term. I was now, the summer 
of 1890, forty-eight years old, at a period of life supposed 
by some to be the end of a teacher's usefulness. In fact, 
however, the twenty-six years of teaching hitherto proved in 
my case to be a needed apprenticeship for what was to be 
my most significant service, namely, that of twenty years as 
principal of three of the largest city high schools of the coun- 
try. Cooperstown is the place, of all the places where I have 
lived, that seems most like home. My children were reared 
there. There, year after year, I walked with them, hand in 
hand, over the surrounding hills, enjoyed with them charming 



TEACHING EXPERIENCE iQ 

Otsego Lake, where we rowed in summer and skated in winter, 
and where I stored up a fund of enjoyments to be remembered 
throughout a life-time. The boys and girls, pupils of that 
earlier time, the most of whom I have known from infancy, 
now grown to middle age, are in large numbers filling stations 
of responsibility and honor. My associate teachers of those 
years (alas, many of whom are not now living) hold no small 
place in my affections. 

The next move, and, taking all the circumstances into ac- 
count, the most ambitious I have ever made, was going from 
a village of but little more than 2,000 inhabitants to Worcester, 
Mass., to take charge of the largest mixed high school in New 
England. Here I had between thirty and forty associate teach- 
ers, generally experienced, efficient, and devoted to the school's 
best interests. ■ The students, at one time numbering nearly 
1,000, were, on the average, above the usual high school age 
and of a high grade of scholarship. It had always been my 
dream some day to be principal of a city high school. The 
longed-for time had now come. It was, it must be confess- 
ed, with considerable fear and trembling that I assumed this 
larger responsibilit3^ To meet its demands and uncertainties, 
I decided at the outset to be indifferent as regarded my fate — 
to do my duty in as faithful a manner as possible and abide 
the consequences. Here I realized, and most happily, how 
dependent a principal is upon the loyal support of his as- 
sociates. This acknowledgment is made in justice to the Wor- 
cester teachers. Here I was allowed, and even required, to 
read the Scriptures at assembly, something I had never done 
in Cooperstown, — a practice, I may say, that w^as also to be 
required later in Philadelphia and New York City. While 
it is easy to understand, from various points of view, the 
grounds of objection to giving anything like definite religious 
instruction in the public schools, I think it a most desirable 
way of beginning the daily session, to have the school as- 
semble for the reading of a short, judiciously selected portion 
of the Bible and for singing, this very properly to be followed 
occasionally by brief remarks, generally relating to the con- 
duct of the school. But such assembly exercises would be 
barren indeed, if the Bible were left out. Nothing can take 



50 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

its place. An amusing coincidence anent the reading of the 
Scriptures in school happened in Worcester, and was associ- 
ated with the temperance question. It was a "license year," 
and on the morning of the day when the license law went 
into effect, I chanced to read from Isaiah, "Ho, every one 
that thirsteth," quite unaware of its timeliness, until one of 
the teachers, after the assembly, called attention to it. 

The three years in the Philadelphia High School for Girls 
l)rought a new experience, with a school of one sex only. 
While of the opinion that a mixed high school, numbering 
not to exceed 1,000 pupils, may be preferable, in a school of 
gigantic size I w^ould not choose to have both sexes. The 
teaching force in Philadelphia, numbering about 80, and, with 
one exception, all ladies, was conspicuous for faithfulness and 
efficiency. In Worcester the corps of instruction was, in point 
of sex. about equally divided, — a happy proportion it has 
seemed to me. and one desirable even in a girls' school. The 
Philadelphia teachers, in comparison with those I had pre- 
viously known, were more spontaneous, exhibiting the amiable 
qualities of a more southern latitude. It is well known that 
we New Englanders, in particular, are an undemonstrative 
and rather cold-blooded folk, a characteristic to some extent 
also of sections of the Middle States. I am glad that I lived 
three years in the Quaker City, and that I am able to hold 
in memory the pleasant associations I enjoyed with teachers 
and pupils both at Seventeenth Street and at Broad. 

Thirteen years in the Wadleigh High School for Girls, 
located for the greater part of the time at llith St. and 7th 
Avenue, New York City, was to be the rounding-out of my 
46 years of teaching. The enrollment of this school for a 
single year, at one time, reached as high as 3,800 pupils. Here, 
for the first time. I enjoyed (what was of no small consid- 
eration) the satisfaction of taking the leading part in the 
inauguration of a school, where I was not to be hampered 
by a school's traditions. It may not be generally known 
that until the summer of 1897 New York proper, that is, be- 
fore enlargement, had been without high schools. At that 
date three such were established — one for girls, one for boys, 
and one for both sexes. It was my fortune to be called as 



TEACHING EXPERIENCE 51 

head of the first mentioned. The work of organizing the 
school was interesting, if somewhat unpleasant. For six years 
the school occupied rooms in as many as five different gram- 
mar school buildings, some of them being five miles apart. 
In many instances, owing to the rapid increase of high school 
pupils, the classrooms were over-crowded, often two girls be- 
ing obliged to occupy one chair. In the beginning the three 
high schools had altogether a meagre attendance of less than 
1,000 students. To-day, in the seven high schools occupying 
the same territory (boroughs of Manhattan and the Bronx), 
more than 17,000 students are enrolled. A distinguishing fea- 
ture of the Wadleigh High School has been the cosmopolitan 
character of its faculty. This was owing in great part to 
their manner of selection and appointment. Competition be- 
ing the rule, candidates were invited from all sections of the 
country, and were drawn anywhere from Maine to Louisiana, 
from the Atlantic to the Pacific. They represented at least a 
score of states and more than a dozen colleges. They were 
mostly strangers to one another. A group so dissimiliar nec- 
essarily had both its advantages and its drawbacks. It was 
a corps of unusual strength and loj^alty. While there was 
wanting at first desirable cohesiveness, this was soon acquired. 
The corps of instruction had a large preponderance of women 
teachers. Of the whole number of teachers, at times over 
120, only eight or ten were men, all of superior character 
and ability. 

Some of the important happenings in New York from 1897 
to 1910 were: Dewey's return, the Lincoln Centennial, and 
the Hudson-Fulton celebration; all of which were more or 
less of concern to the schools, — the last two being occasions 
of which the schools took particular cognizance. There were 
sad occurrences affecting the school in these years, the most 
awful being the burning of the steamer General Slocum, among 
the victims of which disaster there were more than a dozen 
Wadleigh girls. 

At this stage of my reminiscences some general reflections 
may be made upon the teaching profession, or, perhaps better, 
the teacher's "calling." I shall speak as a principal, and 
shall first mention some of the drawbacks of teaching as a 



52 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

life pursuit. From the principal's point of view teaching is 
more nearly all-absorbing than most callings. It so exhausts 
the resources of the mind, that there is allowed but little op- 
portunity for initiative in any collateral endeavor. For ex- 
ample, the successful principal hardly ever essays authorship. 
Whatever his literary taste may be, especially if it tend to- 
wards literary creation, he is hardly ever able to indulge it 
with any good results. It is true he may do a vast amount 
of reading, and as a consequence may cultivate the apprecia- 
tive faculty. This is possible in spite of fatigued body and 
mind. Even in such a condition reading may be a recreation. 
It will, however, necessarily be fragmentary. It is to be borne 
in mind that the principal's school duties are not confined 
to the schoolroom and to the regular school hours, but that 
they are almost constantly in his thoughts. This being the 
ease, reading jnust often be done in mere snatches of time. 
Although in this way the critical faculty may be improved 
to the teacher's great enjoyment, the inventive and expres- 
sional faculties, of much greater significance, are likely to 
be wholly neglected. It is far from the whole truth to say, 
as some one has done, that "the only art of expression is to 
have something to express." Though "reading maketh a full 
man" according to Bacon, the best-read man, who rarely 
finds it possible to think, is helpless so far as invention and 
expression are concerned. Again, as "it is only early practice 
that makes the artist," even, when after many years of teach- 
ing one gives up his vocation and attempts to write, with 
whatever unremitting eft'ort, the product of his pen is un- 
likely to be of much value. Whatever natural endowments 
one might early have found available for some degree of suc- 
cess have become atrophied by disuse. The business of teach- 
ing has another disadvantage, in the little prospect it affords 
of personal aggrandizement. The schoolmaster is not in this 
respect on a par with those engaged in any one of the three 
usually recognized professions. The very indefiniteness of 
pedagogy as a science so mystifies aims and minimizes re- 
sults, that there is no sure criterion of success to be adopted 
as a common working principle. Those who have ranked 
highest as teachers have generallj^ owed their distinction to 



TEACHING EXPERIENCE 53 

unusual personality, something that cannot be imitated by 
another. Thomas Arnold had no system of philosophy of 
education, but acted independently of rules that were sus- 
ceptible of formulation. To steal his art would have been 
"as difficult as to steal Hercules 's club." Nor have the prom- 
inent writers on pedagogy generally been noted as teachers. 
Again, it is no small objection to the business of teaching, 
that its pecuniary rewards are not inviting. It is a pursuit 
that does not encourage either good business habits or thrift. 
In this respect it is like the ministry. Furthermore, it lacks 
opportunities for developing the strength and virility that 
result from dealing with persons of mature age rather than 
with the young. The foregoing objections to the teacher's 
calling, by no means all that could be brought forward, are, 
perhaps, the most obvious. And yet, weighty as they appear, 
they are, I believe, more than counterbalanced by the satis- 
factions that accompany and result from a life devoted to 
instructing and training youth. The teacher's rewards are 
chiefi}' incorporeal. They are not to be measured by money 
or social position. They are, in a word, the consciousness 
of doing good by influencing multitudes of plastic minds 
through personal contact. If there is any nobler way of 
serving mankind, it is not readily apparent. A life spent 
in improving and enriching the lives of others, and at a pe- 
riod of those lives when thought and feeling are most im- 
pressionable, is the nearest approach mortals have to immor- 
tality. The enthusiasm kindled in one generation is as a torch 
to be passed on to generations succeeding. That this influence, 
or enthusiasm, is not always realized by the pupil until later 
in life is only natural. It may be unconscious tuition, though 
none the less genuine in its pft'ects. Nor is this satisfaction 
enjoyed by the teacher his only reward. Amid the perplexities 
of the school, from which hardly a day is free, there comes 
an occasional hour of unsurpassed gladness, when exaltation 
of thought and feeling holds sway, and more than outweighs 
all the hours of vexation and discouragement. The effect of 
such a supreme hour has a parallel in what we sometimes feel 
when viewing a gorgeous sunset, the momentary sight of which 
is enough to cancel all the ills of existence. 



54 Ari'DuuniKAi'HY 

One of tlio oonsliint ami absorbing ploasun's of lifo con- 
sists in looking forwaril lo a tinio of rest. Avlien serious work 
sluill be tinally suspoudod. And yet the vealizatiou of \vliat 
tliis period of retirement has in store far surpasses the au- 
tieipation of it. While uo small part of the satisfaetiou that 
may be I'xpiM-ieneeil at this late stage of life is the conscious- 
ness of iiaving ptM-formed ouo's duties, there is something 
sweetly attractive in the very rest itself, iu the sense of re- 
lief from pressing activities and iiarassiag eares. and in the 
possible enjoyment of congenial occupations long wished for. 
Urauted. that age has somewhat impaired the natural facul- 
ties and dulled the keener susceptibilities o\' youth, still old 
age has in the way o[' pleasures resources of its own. resources 
as iu>possil>le for youth as youth's natural inheritances are 
irrelevant to age. ^lorever. what a store o[' nieniories old 
age has! What friendships to be re-enacted in thought ! What 
acquisitions by the intellect and the senses, derived from books 
and persons, to be drawn from! The retlections of Cicero 
in /)f Sencctufc support what is here at!irmed. He would have 
it that old age even delights iu congenial activities. lie tells 
us that Plato, iu his eighty-tirst year, died while writing, and 
insists that the intellectual powers reuuiin. provided study 
and application are kept up. Longfellow's Moriliiri Saliilanni,< 
iu like uuiunev re-enforces the same idea, (^ne of the re- 
sources that remain undiminished to declining years is a love 
of nature, which shows itself iu such thiugs as practical gar- 
dening and arboriculture. "God.*' says Bacon, "first planted 
a garden." Another gratitieatiou that solaces old age, and, 
it Avould appear, a crowning one. uuiy be found in having 
descendants — children and grandchildren, in whom we shall 
continue to live, anil who will in a manniM- inherit whatever 
we mav have achieved. 



(^IIAi»TER IV. 
LETTERS. 

St rat ford-on- Avon, Auj^. 2, 1895. 

AT Jast luy eyes are b]<;ssf'd l>y the realization of a life- 
loiifc dn;arn — the sight of Shakspeare's birth-place. 
A few days ago when at Melrose, we were shown 
within the preeinets of tliat splr-ndid old abbey riiin a stone 
oij wljieh Walter Seott used to sit and muse and write, and 
were told that he has in some mys1(;rious way eommunieated 
such a virtue to the plaf-e that it inspires any one who sits 
there. Hallowed as that spot is by the Wizard of the North, 
J ehose to wait and do iny worshiping in a i>laee where every 
stone and everything around in earth and air has been given 
inspiration j>owf'r by the greater neeromaneer of i\\<t Avon. 
We had pur[)Oscly i-cscrvcd Str-atford as the j)lac(' of our final 
sojourn Ix'fore quitting (ir<ni Britain for honif. We ar- 
rived last night in twiliglit not too dim to see plainly the 
graceful Childs fountain, in which all Philadelphians take 
pride. The driver eould not adequately exj^ress his praise 
of Mr. Childs, and when he learned that I was from Phila- 
delphia he drew still more heavily upon his, to me, quaint 
dialect, telling how all the shops were closed in Stratford on 
the day of the generous man's funeral. I was awakened early 
this morning Yyy the chirping of a single loquacious sparrow, 
of the voracious, pugnacious type so common now in Ameri- 
can towns and cities. From natural impulse I was in a hurry 
to get out and see the place by daylight. T found no one 
stirring about the house ; both front doors were locked and 
the keys had been taken out ; but f succe,eded in opening a 
door in the rear, and passing through the back yard climbed 
over a wall eight feet high and made for the river. PMnding 
no one in charge, I "borrowed" one of several small boats I 
found carelessly tied by the wharf, headed it down stream 
and rowed with nervous expectation in the direction of a 
church steeple. Of course I took off my hat and kept it off 
while rowing by the Stratford Church. 



5() AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Some time in June 1 Avrote you of my plans to spend three 
■weeks iu Great Britain, and told you that rest was to be my 
ehief aim. As I look back noAv. near the expiration of the 
allotted time, 1 see nothing but haste since landing in Liver- 
pool. The imprisonment on the Atlantic for ten days has at 
least one redeeming feature ; it compels restless, hustling 
Americans to keep still for a -while and get rest in spite of 
themselves. The crossing of the Atlantic was exceptionally 
pleasant and uneventful. Perhaps the most unusual occur- 
rence was the simple ceremony of burying an infant at sea. 
The Church of England service was read impressively bj^ a 
Philadelphia clergyman, standing near the port bulwark aft; 
and at the proper moment two sailors dropped the rude cas- 
ket over the side. 

AYe made the acquaintance of Liverpool at midnight, as 
it was necessary to be out of the Avay of another steamer to 
arrive next morning. The first impression was of large crowds 
gathered even at that late hour around the bulletin boards 
watching "the returns." In America one night suffices for 
this; here they keep up voting for two or three weeks. The 
papers have for a long time contained little besides politics. 
I find myself just about as much mixed on British politics 
as 1 am on church architecture. "Conservative and radical," 
"unionist and separatist," "tory," and something or other 
else, are, however, somewhat less confused than when I came. 

AVe left Liverpool about noon Wednesday. July 17th, and 
after a pleasant journey of three or four hours through in- 
teresting rural scenery found Lake Windermere a perfect 
dream. Early in the day it had rained, but it was now clear 
and the charming combination of water, green shores, islands 
and hills Avas something never to be forgotten. The beauty 
of this particular lake seemed so nuich in excess of Avhat I 
found elsewhere in England that T am led to wonder at the 
too faint praise given it. We chose Ambleside for our one 
night among the English lakes and found the best kind of 
English Inn comfort at the unpretentious White Lion. We 
here for the first time experienced the lengthening twilight 
of high latitudes. We knoAv but little of such a phenomenon 
from reading about it. On the passage up the lake we were 



LETTERS 



57 



shown, ou a point, the old inn wher<' Wordsworth, Scott, and 
other congenial souls used to meet in social communion; also 
the house of ^Mrs. Ilemans ; and were told that the renowned 
Manchester aciueduct follows the eastern shore. You of course 
know that this great work brings the imra water of Thirlmere 
to Manchester, after much tunneling of mountains, a distance 
of sixty miles. Ruskin's home is about eight miles west of 
Ambleside and is well worth the visit we could not pay it. 
Wasn't Kuskiu seriously talked of for poet laureate after 
Tennyson's death? Jnst now England is suffering from a 
dearth of poets. AVe. of course, walked about Harriet Mar- 
tineau's house at Ambleside. The; greatest attraction here, 
however, is the fame given it by Wordsworth, perhaps Eng- 
land's third greatest poet. His house, closed to all visitors, 
is two miles from the village and lake, in a picturesque spot . 
cuddling under ambitious hills, roeky. precipitous, rough, and 
peaked like mountains. These surrounding elevations, if less 
than mountains, are certainly more than hills. Perhaps no 
great violence would ])e done to our language if they were 
called mountlets. \n all this region and in parts of Scotland 
we meet many such elevations and are quite at a loss to know 
what to call them. Why Wordsworth and Southey did not 
choose for their residences places boi'dering a lake is a mys- 
tery. Evidently thi-y fancied mountains more. So Scott, with 
a wealth of Scottish lakes to choose from, selected the bank 
of the Tweed, which lacks even picturesque surroundings. Two 
miles farther on our way from Ambleside, we found the grave 
of AVordsworth in the quiet little churchyard of Grasmere. 
1 should nientidii Dial the Journey from Ambleside to Keswick, 
seventee)! uiib-s. is )nade by coach, and a most delightful 
journey ii is. if one is as fortunate as we were, in having a 
clear day. As the interest at Lake Windermere is inseparable 
fi'om Wordsworth, so that at Keswick and Derwent Water 
ki-eps Southey in the foreground. Here Coleridge and Shelley 
both lived, though but little account of the fact seems to be 
taken l)y llie natives. I believe Landor once visited Southey 
here. The old se.xton. who showed us the church and sur- 
roundings and Southey 's grave, liad seen all these celebrities. 
Ill' lliou^hl Soulbev a good fellow, and said l)ut foi- inebriety 



58 Ai rouuHiKArii\ 

IlartU'v Coloridije mouUI have been a more brilliant man than 
Sanniel Taylor. An insigniticanl Avatorfall near Dcrwont Wa- 
ter was the oceasiou of Southey's "How the water eomes down 
at Lodore."* Keswiek and surroundings have been greatly 
praised for natural beauty, even said to surpass anything 
else iu Europe. I was not impressed inordinately. 



Stratford-on-A\(>ii. Aug. ;?. 1895. 
On our way to Seotlaud we stopped over at C'arlisle. and 
through the kindness of northern twilight had three hours 
to give to our first, and on the whole least interesting, ea- 
thedral. It has a nuu'h praised window, elaimed by the ver- 
ger to be the finest iu Great Britain, a distiuetion we found 
not allowed by the vergers of at least two other eathedrals. 
Here I first began to be bothered with ehureh arehiteeture. 
Avhieh 1 had never seriously studied, and for two or three 
(hiys the hM'ius used iiiadr eoufusiou in my tireil liead. After 
sueli an experienee as 1 have had one feels under a moral 
obligation to give attention to the study of the art of build- 
ing. How some of our friends, seeing so nuu'li of eeclesias- 
tieal interest, would revel in the '"deeorated.'' "parallel," 
"Norman." "Early English," "gargoyles," ''lanterns," "la- 
dy ehapels." tombs of ''venerable Bedes," and all that sort 
of thing. AVhat about Carlisle eathedral interested me most 
was the faet that AValter Seott was married in it. The verger 
with nuieh pomp showed us the exaet spot where the happy 
pair stood at the altar. GlasgOAv greeted us witli a Seoteh 
rain, and the day given to the journey through the lakes 
to Edinburgh, instead of being the most delightful of onr 
whole tour, as we had expeeted. proved the dismalest. The 
rugged shores of Loch Lomond were enveloped in clouds from 
the top of the mountain down, and their beauty was almost 
wholly lost to us. Innumerable frothy streamlets coursing 
down the ravines were all that relieved the general gloom. 
Much of the time we were compelled to stay below, where 
we saw little besides fog and water, and those through glass 
windows. From Inversnaid to Loch Katrine we eoaehed it 
under dripping umbrellas and were simply drenched. The 



LETTERS 59 

coach load of twentj^ was entirely composed of Americans. 
One of them, a gentleman from Kansas, and evidently a little 
Avetter than the rest, tried to take grief with a smile. In the 
midst of the wild scenery of Loch Katrine, the clouds for the 
time having lifted, while others were filled with admiration, 
he calmly asked if I knew the geological formation of the 
surrounding cliffs. A little while before, when several were 
discussing the relative desirability of a quick or a slow pas- 
sage across the Atlantic, he expressed most emphatically a 
willingness to recross in just one minute. At the head of 
Loch Katrine, near Ellen's Isle, we had a view of unusual 
beauty. In my list I rank it with Lake Windermere for im- 
pressiveness. Patience in wet buskins is said to have its lim- 
its. Passing through the Trossachs in a thoroughly wet skin 
is too much for even American enthusiasm. It goes without 
saying that we were disgusted and unhappy when we descend- 
ed to Aberfoyle. 



Stratford-on-Avon, Aug. 5, 1895. 
In my previous letter I had reached Aberfoyle, with our 
distressed but good natured company, about the middle of 
the afternoon of the one really disappointing day of our whole 
tour. At Stirling we had three hours of most satisfactory 
sight-seeing. The good impression made by this castle may 
be due in part to its being my first castle of the kind : also 
I may have been in an unusually happy frame of mind, just 
having emerged from the unfriendly Trossachs. Evidentlj^ 
the conditions were all right at Stirling, and it is to be re- 
membered that Ave always speak of the fair as our own goods 
have gone in the market. The views from Stirling Castk 
are very similar to those obtained from the heights at Edin- 
burgh and Windsor. Each of these has, like Stirling, an ex- 
tended flat landscape happily variegated with cultivated fields, 
woods, and running Avaters ; but the Avide mouth of the Forth, 
besides being too far away for the best effect, is not so charm- 
ing as the same stream. narroAv and deep, as it Avinds with 
grace beneath the monuments of Wallace and Bruce. Nor 
is the Thames at Windsor so charming as the Forth at Stirl- 



(iO 



\l I'tMSlOdK- \rii V 



iiisi'. Ti> A iiu'ricaiis, who Uiwc lirni t'ainil uir willi llic mn.icsiv 
(>r I 111' Ihulson and llio hi'lawarr. Mnii'lisli rixcrs art- not nal- 
nral (^li.icrls of yiral iinprt'ssix cnrss, liowrxcr nun-h lhc\ nuiy 
lia\r l>('t'n liallowcd l>v porlfv ami historic associations, l>nt 
the l''orth as seen I'loiu ihc top ol' Siirlino- ('astic is as a part 
o{' Ihc natnral landscape the iiiosi i>lcasinL;' v'wcv scene I lia\e 
met in (ii'cal lirilain. The 'I'hames nowhere', not e\en at Wind 
siU', i>(|uals it. llowcxei'. ihal which makes Siii-lino' si> sn 
pci'lat i\t>l\' interest inii' is siMuethini;' besides beantit'nl land 
scape, with its i^reeii and cnili\aled lields, ri\er, and woodeil 
tracts, displa\tMi in happiest condiinat ion In these respt'cts 
the \alley ol' the Connectii'nt has places u> match il ; luiI they 
ha\e no I winiu>cUl>nrn or hat t Iciironnd consecraled hv Wal 
lace's luToism. 'These two Tamoas litdds ol' slril'e ai'c in plnin 
siii'ht on o|>[>(>siie siiles ol" the I'astle and add to the place a 
charm no! posscsscil l>y any other I'lirtress \isited. Near the 
castle on the side toward the lield o\' UannvU'khnni are the 
tournament i;rounds still preserved in their oriii'inal (ovu\ and 
\ery nuu'li as they were when Mary <.^>neen o\' Scots, a cap- 
live in the tower, used to walch the tillinii' kniiihts from a 
narrow slit in the wall. In some form or olhei- this poor 
(^■(leen seemed to lu' at hand wherever we went. .\t one time 
we wei'c slunv n I he vooiu she occupied in a palace: at an- 
other, one ol' the [daces o\' her incari'ci'at ion ; aiiaiu, anil this 
Iretjuently, her pi>i'trait l>y some master; and aii'ain si>me 
sliii'hl memento, as a cross or Kudx ol" hair. Near the castle 
on a little and>itious hlutV is a splendid monument to Wal- 
lace, a tit companion to that ol" Krui'c on the Castle's l''s- 
plaiuuli'. 1 lose none o[' my enthusiasiu I'oi- Stirliui;' as ! am 
removed from it in tiuie and space. No one ot" a hundrcil 
intorestiiiir tliiuii's seen since has heen ahle to displace it in 
my rcii'ard. We crossed the renowned l'\>rth bridiie, nearly 
ti\e uules in leuiith, and at halt' i>ast nine in tlu' eveninji" 
entered Ktiiuburirh, the Scotch Atliens. Three da\s had wise- 
\\ heen apfnuM ii>ned to this superb city. llav iuii' faviM'able 
weather, we made li'ood ust' o[' the time. We had hiiih e\- 
piH'tatious o\' i\ city clainiinu' to be the tiut'st in the worlii 
and were not ct>nscious (>t" disapp(>int Uu-nt. I piui emersiiuir 
from till' Waverlv Statit>n one is easih c(>nv iuccil tltat Walter 



i,K'r'ri;i{:- 



(il. 



Scolt owns 1ln' louii. as (;v<;ry1 liin^^ in IIk- ni'i(/lil)orlioo(l s«miiis 
1<, l)c <-Mll<'d \Vav<;riy, Uw spl<'n(lid Wavcrly )n<)nu)n<;rjl <-loH<i 
at. liand being thr; most, couspiciioiis. It can Ix- said in i^au- 
••ral that Great liritain takes k'>'»*I '''A'''' '>^' '"■'' "'''''' '"^^' 
wli<'1li<-r literary, military, or naval. She is i)artieidarly re- 
{^ardJ'ul of the rnetnory of tliose who have foufrht her battles. 
Nelson and Wellington an- honor-'il wilh Uk- most eoslly me- 
morials. Si. I'aul's in Lond<jn lias mor<; heroes than saints 
and quite n-sembles a tejiiple of victory. Kdinburj^h has been 
di'scrincd niiiMitdy by so many IIihI i1 is (»ni' of tli<' b<s1 known 
of all fon'if^n cities, and it would b<- foolish for me 1o >^<) into 
any details n-j^ardinfi; it. We found l)arlinj4:'s Hold, ••••iitral- 
ly situated on Princess street, a most satisfadory place of 
.•ntertainmenl. I mention this facd in {gratitude for what I 
found cxc.-plional. and Ix-caiise I believ<- it only rif^ht to praise 
a good lliin^ when you find i1 in this imperfect world. Our 
plans cont<'mplaled spending the Ilu-ee Sundays of our itin- 
erary at Kdinburgh, London, and Stratford. We made the 
Sunday at Edinburgh a full .lay, attending church three times, 
at St. (liles's, Dr. .McGregor's and St. Mary's Cathedral. St. 
Giles's is wh<;re the Queen worships in Edinburgh, and for a 
Presbyterian church has a tendency to be English or 'high" 
Presbyterian. We were attracted to \\u- military service at 
half past nine, as hundreds of other Americans were. The 
musical part of the service there is led or accompanied by 
a fine military band, and th(! effect was inspiring and most 
satisfactory. The preacher, evidently of only moderate abil- 
ities, turned his back to us and preached at the soldiei- end 
of the church; consequently we felt at liberty to study the 
fine windows and tattered battlefiags hanging ai)Ove. The 
manner of taking up a colh-ction was a revelation, a pouch 
being passed from hand to hand. Probably everybody else 
had known this before. • wonder thnt I had never read 
about it. I>ut this is not the onl.s' thing I have in a similar 
manner been surprised at within the past three weeks. How 
does it happen that no one has ever told me witli adequate 
emphasis of the peculiar charms of Lake Windi-rmere and 
Stirling (Jastle? The service at St. Giles's was unique in 
being just ;in hour long. It closed with "God Save the Queen" 



62 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

instead of the doxology, and as the opening notes of the band 
gave a hint of our familiar air, we Americans had ready on 
our lips the words, "My Country 'tis of Thee," but only sang 
them in our hearts. By walking rapidly we reached Dr. Mc- 
Gregor's church in time for another morning service. This 
church has a name of its own, but just now it is forgotten. 
This is an instance where the preacher is sufficiently renown- 
ed to give his own name to his church. Beecher's Church 
and Spurgeon's Church are other examples. I was sadly dis- 
appointed in Dr. McGregor; in fact I usually have been dis- 
appointed in great preachers. Phillips Brooks is about the 
only exception. As a general thing the best sermons I have 
heard have been by men not celebrated, that is. men not like- 
ly to draw crowds merely by disjointed rhetoric and impas- 
sioned oratory. In the evening we attended a very proper 
Church of England service at St. Mary's Cathedral, a beau- 
tiful edifice of recent construction, the munificence of two 
wealthy but devout maiden ladies. I feel that in writing of 
the grandeur of Edinburgh I am only repeating twice told 
tales. We visited the wonderful castle and saw the Scotch 
soldiers on parade. A sudden shower drove them and us under 
cover, our refuge being little St. Margaret's chapel, which 
for twenty minutes was crowded to the door with Americans 
from every part of the Union. "We visited the haunts of John 
Knox, met again Mary Queen of Scots at Holyrood Palace, 
and saw with admiration the monument to Nelson and AVell- 
ington on Calton Hill. I was interested in the house where 
Hume lived and could not admire enough the princely Prin- 
cess street. After all, the greatest thing in Edinburgh, as it 
is also the greatest thing in Scotland, is Walter Scott. He 
sits enthroned under the splendid Scott monument, which is 
open on four sides of the base and shows the Wizard seated 
as he has been pictured to the ends of the civilized world. 
When taking the round of the "circuit" on the top of a bus, 
I was shown by an intelligent gentleman sitting near me the 
house where Scott, as a little child, met Robert Burns, it lac- 
ing the only time he ever saw him. Few things in this fa- 
mous city pleased me more. 

It is not in my line, as has already been intimated, to write 



LETTERS 



63 



up the cathedral towns. I must therefore be brief and avoid 
technicalties. Naturally we visited the well-preserved ruin 
of Melrose Abbey first and then Abbotsford near by. This 
Abbey so much exceeds in interest for the tourist the ill-pre- 
served Kenilworth, that the latter but for the pen of Scott 
has no great attractiveness. Kenilworth is only a great sug- 
gestion mantled with bewitching ivy; Melrose retains some- 
thing of reality. Abbotsford, three miles from Melrose, has 
but meagre help from nature, but abounds in the resources 
of associations bestowed upon it by an inspired man. A vis- 
itor once complained to the owner that Abbotsford lacked 
picturesqueness. Scott told him that the very barrenness was 
to him beauty. I asked the keeper of the place if I might 
be allowed to walk across the narrow^ strip of meadow to 
get a closer view of the Tweed, but was refused. The in- 
terior of the house was to me intensely interesting. The rel- 
ics, not too numerous to be examined without painful exer- 
tion, I would rather see again than the crown jewels in Lon- 
don Tower. Here we saw the sword of Rob Roy, really more 
interesting than Cromwell's armor hanging on the wall at 
Warwick Castle ; and the cross held by Mary Queen of Scots 
just before her execution. On our w^ay to London we visited 
the cathedrals of Durham. York, Lincoln, and Ely. Each has 
its own excellence and peculiar characteristics. Durham, of 
necessity, being nearest the border, has about it most of the 
air of a church militant. Its elevated site admirably adapts 
it for defense; its monks must have been good fighters. The 
chapel, or the Galilee as it is called, contains the remains of 
the venerable Bede. York with its antiquity, splendid Min- 
ster, and walls both Roman and modern, is a place to tarry 
in. We stayed but one day, getting the impression that its 
chapter house surpassed everything else in England in the 
way of fine carved ornamentation. At Lincoln it is the tower 
they praise for excellence. Ely has the longest nave, is "low 
church," is light, and has a modern look, as if a comforta- 
ble place to worship in. Cambridge, where Ave spent a day, 
quite captivated us. King's College Chapel and Old Trinity 
interested us most of the university buildings. We Avere charm- 
ed with the Cam and the "Backs," the latter being the well- 



(i4 AlTOBlOCiKAlMlV 

knoAvii park-lik(^ border of the river l)ehind the college on 
tile fartlier shore, havhig a delightful walk close to the stream. 
('aiiii)ridge and Stratford are the only places where we have 
indulged ill I'ow-hoats. We were pi'oud of our ladies who, 
having been ethicated at the source of the Susquehanna, step- 
prd into a small boat with no sign of timidity, and feathered 
an oar in the classic Cam as if to the manner born. Through 
the K'indness of the "bed-woman" and the gentle persuasivi'- 
ness of a sixi)encc we saw the rooms once occupied by New- 
ton, ^lacaulay. and Thackeray at Old Trinity, and of course 
the famous hole in the door for Newton's cat. 



Stratford-on-Avon, August 5. 1895. 

What most impressed me in London was in not being par- 
ticularly impressed. Seldom have my preconceived notions 
of a city been so true as in this instance, which was owing 
no doubt to the abundant good literature upon the topogra- 
phy and history of the place with which I have been con- 
versant all my life. I seemed to be (juite at home in the 
vicinity of Fleet street, the Strand, and St. Paul's. The de- 
scriptions of Westminster Abbey, so vivid in Sir Roger de 
C^ovei'ley and in the writings of almost numberless literary 
men of high rank, in a measure prepared me for a recogni- 
tion of everything within its hallowed precincts. Some of 
these artistic delineations might, like Byron's description of 
the Colosseum by moonlight. l)e i)ronounced better than the 
reality. Piccadilly. Avith its sea of crowded human-freighted 
busses, had a familiar" look; and I felt sure of having pre- 
viously held my ear to the wall in the whispering gallery of 
St. Paul's Cathedral and to have surveyed the mighty city 
from its dome. After all, the things I didn't see in Loudon, 
but of which I have learned from good winters, impress me 
even more than wiiat I saw' there in one poor week. Truly, 
as has l)een said, London is England. Here we find English 
history centuries deep. 

Hardly anything in Great Britain is more remarkable than 
tlie abs<mce of colored people. I saw but three while there. 
All the waiter po[)ulation in p]ngland is decidedly English, 



T.ETTERS 65 

and how fatally they all misuse the letter "h," even the oth- 
erwise aeconiplished verger, who looks as if he might be the 
Arehbishop of Canterbury! This same English lower class, 
hoAvever. has certain elegancies of pronunciation, and espe- 
cially in the sounds of the vowels, .which cultivated Ameri- 
cans might enuilate. It made me envious to hear a railway 
porter say "half-past." Other surprises were the infrequen- 
cy of bicyclists, especially women; the lateness at which busi- 
ness London bestirs itself in the morning, it being almost 
impossible to find a cab before seven o'clock; the dearth of 
American news in the English dailies ; and the fact that news- 
paper venders on the street seldom have the London Times. 

We heard Carmen, with a cast including l)oth Calve and 
]\lelba, at Covent Garden. In the royal box were the Prin- 
cess of Wales and her daughters. To me the charm of the 
performance was, in spite of C-alve's great acting, Melba's 
divinely sweet singing. 

Time and again when we have expressed admiration for 
something beautiful in the way of architecture, our guide 
Avould inform us with a tone and look of severe reproof, that 
the object of our admiration was not at all worthy of no- 
tice, as it Avas less than two hundred years old. In the hope 
of touching upon some theme that is not hackneyed or prom- 
inent in the latest "Baedeker." I propose to defy custom and 
speak of two literary characters but recently deceased, who 
attracted me quite as much as the "Cheshire Cheese" and the 
houses where Lamb, Johnson, and Boswell each lived. Our 
last day in London was given almost exclusively to Thomas 
C^arlyle and George Eliot. 

On the Cheyne Walk, bordering the Thames Embankment 
in Chelsea, in a diminutive park, is to be seen in an eleva- 
ted sitting posture a bronze statue of Thomas Carlyle. The 
whole neighborhood is too Carlylish to be mistaken. The 
courts, shops, and at least one hotel perpetuate the fact of 
his residence in this part of London. Carlyle 's house, but a 
stone's throw from the station, where he lived and worked 
the greater part of his active life, is most commonplsTce both 
externally and internally. On the outside of the front wall, 
at the centre of the second story, a small bronze tablet shows 



C6 ALTOBIOCiUArilY 

Carlylf's face in relief. 1 found a woman in charge, avIio took 
my shilling most amiably and informed me that the place had 
been but recently opened as a museum; that a reliable as- 
sociation composed of admirers of Carlyle had purchased the 
property with the hope of sometime making it what Abbots- 
ford is : that at present there was but little in the way of 
relics to be seen, but that there was no doubt many such would 
in a few years be collected by gift and purchase. I was shown 
over the premises* in a most courteous manner, from kitchen 
to uppermost rooms. Naturally taking me for an American, 
she manifested much pride in showing the chamber where Mr. 
Emerson slept when a guest of Mr. Carlyle. The great au- 
thor's study is at the top of the house, and is cheerfully light- 
ed from the roof. It is decidedly unique in having double 
walls with a space of about three feet between. This ar- 
rangement, an afterthought, was a futile attempt to keep 
out the noise of the street. As an indication of Carlyle 's 
over-sensitiveness to noises of all kinds, an incident is relat- 
ed of his rather unamiable expostulation with a Avidow. a 
neighbor of liis. for keeping a rooster whose crowing an- 
noyed him. To her iiatnral retort that the rooster crowed 
but seldom, he rejoined: "That isn't it; what troubles me 
is. the ai>preliension that he will crow." It was decidedly 
impressive to stand in this room, whci-e Carlyle spent eleven 
years in writing his Frederick the Great. Among othei- me- 
mentos 1 was shown the great Scotchman's chair, cane, and 
inkstands: but the back yard, a small grassy rectangle thick- 
ly fringed with small tr(H's. interested me most of all. It 
contains a dried stump which was Carlyle 's favorite seat when 
he was engaged in deep meditation. Here he used to sit and 
talk when receiving visits from Tennyson and other literary 
friends. Close by the fence at the rear is the grave of Car- 
lyle 's favorite dog. It seems that Carlyle, Landor. and Scott 
were as partial to dogs as Shakspeare was to horses. 

\Vi> had nnich difficulty in tinding Ceorgi- Eliot's grave, 
which is in a cemetery at Ilighgate. where she rests near Mr. 
Lewes. * As w(^ had not as yet tried the London underground 
railway, and did not wish to leave the city without doing so, 
we took at Victoria station this means of transit in going 



LETTERS 67 

to Jlighgalt!, though by au unnecessarily long and circuitous 
route. An episode a1 llighgate is one of our pleasantest remi- 
niscences of London. After several ineffectual inquiries re- 
garding the burial place of perhaps the most intellectual wo- 
)nan the world has ever known, I ventured to accost, in what 
must have seemed to him a rather abrupt manner, a gentle- 
man of attractive appearance who was stretching out his hands 
to greet his little children who were running on before their 
nurse to welcome him home. With a good natured smile and 
a frank acknowledgment of ignorance on the subject of my 
inquiry, he invited us all, with a cordial insistence such as 1 
never experienced anywhere else, to go to his house a little 
way on, telling the maid to run ahead and have his wife pre- 
pare tea for some tired Americans who were searching for 
dead people three thousand miles away from home. The grace 
of welcome with which his wife received us was inimitable 
in its warmth and naturalness and made us at once quite at 
home. To our surprise we were informed that within a stone's 
throw of the house where we were, the remains of Samuel 
Taylor Coleridge were buried beneath a Grammar School. Our 
liost with his uniform good-natured frankness confessed that 
he had never taken the troul)le during his twelve years' res- 
idence in the place to see Coleridge's tomb, and but for our 
visit had been more likely to visit the tomb of Washington 
Irving than that of Coleridge. The Grammar School, which 
liad been built over the grave, has conspicuous in front an 
interesting Latin motto: Vera loyiii aid tacere. Under the 
guidance; of our genial English friends we soon found the 
object of our search — a rather diminutive monument inscrib- 
ed as follows, the first two lines being 1ai\en from one of 
George Eliot's poems: 

"Of those immortal dead who live again 

In minds made better by their presence." 

Here lies the body 

of 

"George Eliot." 

Mary Ann Cross. 

Born 22 November, 1819. 

Died 22 December, 1880. 



G8 Al'I'OHHUiU' Al-IIN' 

Si rat tV)i'(l-()ii-A\()ii. Aii^-. (i. IS!);"). 

Ol' the Aiiicricnii wrilcrs wlio liaxc Id't their iiuprcssions 
of Stratford. Washington lr\ini:' easily slantis lirst. In I'aet 
nothing' from liis pen is so Ii'ving and classic as the Sketch 
Book. His greatest gift of style, so original and so much his 
own that others try to copy it in xain. is most conspicuously 
shown when, as hvw. his sid).iect is trite and inconse(|nent ial. 
What Irving Avrote about the birthplace of Shakspeare is so 
completely the work of an acconiplishetl litterateni-, that oth- 
ers Avho have attempted the same task since ha\t' been iiope- 
lessly handicapped. It eoiild not be expected that Hawthorne, 
whose genius is in the higlu'st sense creativt'. should iMpial 
his distinguished countryman and forerunner in the spliere 
of description. Mr. William Winter has attempted twice to 
be a second Irving and to depict with lit(>rary charm what- 
ever is of human interest in and about Stratford; but his 
pages, at first possessing sonu' fascination, are too repetitious 
to hold the reader's interest. Oliver Wentlell Holmes, in his 
Hundred Days in Europe, makes but a pitiable exhibition of 
liis brilliant powers as a Avriter when treating of Stratford, 
and shows how ill adapted he is to shine where lr\ing shone 
brightest. 

While the Sketch Hook is as fresh anil as satisfying to 
the cultivated taste as when it tirst appeai'ed to the delight 
of all England as well as America, its author would tind to- 
day (juite a ditferent Stratford from the one he knew even 
so recently. Shakspearian critics, during the past thirty years, 
have made a new Shakspt'are. shoAving him. despite tlie at- 
tempt of some to throw doubt upon the authorsliip of his 
plays, to be even greater than his most ardent admirers had 
thought him. The Germans are said to havt^ discovered Shaks- 
peare a century ago. and as a conseiiuence hundreds and thou- 
sands of the English-speaking race are to-day studying him 
with a ncAv amazement; and the (Mid is not yet. The very 
doubt that is heard on evei'y hand about Shakspeare's IxMug 
the author of the ])lays that are acci-edited to him. has its 
birth in this overwhelming amazement. Intelligent men and 
women. Avho have become possessed of a "little dangerous 
beaming" concerning these marvelous dramas, are readv to 



LET'I'KKS 69 

lliiiik llial. while tlit'y do iiol know who wrolc them, a man 
of Shalispearc's cducalioji jiikI oppoi'liinil i<-s (-(nihl not have 
(lone it. To me, when I considi'i- how siipcfliuinan siicli a 
literary achievement scMMnss, it would appeal- saner lo conclude 
that no riier-c mortal could liaxi- done such work, and lo take 
refug<' with one despaii'iiiK wrilir who claims as Ihe only 
possihle solution of the difficulty, thai Shakspeare is a case 
of the re-incarnation. In ilic numerous small shops her'.- one 
m;iy find near-l\ all the heretical hooks evei- wi'itteti nhout 
Shrd<speji re. from Deliii l);ic()n to nonnelly of the cryj)to}^Tam 
notoriety. Ii is ii fjict nol to he ^'ainsaid 1h;i1 hundri'ds of 
inlelli^i'iil ;ind well mi'<inin<4' men are infi'cted with thes(! her- 
esies. Within the p;ist few (la\'s 1 Inive met two sueli Amer- 
icans. In a con\ersa1ion with on<' (»f these as to the fact that 
three times as many pe()[)le \isit Ayr as Stratford each year, 
he gave as a reason that jx-ople jire heginning to douht Shaks- 
peare. He further- infoi-med me that visitors to the home of 
Shakspeare are, in consecjui'iice of this doubt. f;dlinfi: otf in 
nnmb(!r each year, a statement. h\' the way, (juite the reverse 
of truth, as J am assured on the hesl authority that the num- 
her of aninial visitors here increases steadil.w This ;iidi-Shaks- 
pejirian tendency is not likely, in the long run. to do any con- 
sid<'rable harm, brd genuim; Shakspearian scholars are (dearly 
r(^miss in their indifference towar'ds it. They either- ignoi-e 
it altogether or pass it by after- a "shoo Hy"' fashion. Jir- 
stead of acting in this manner-, the rirost tlior-oughly e(pii|)- 
|»e(| jiinong them could do the wor-ld a gi-eat benefit by arr- 
swering in a single volume jill tire alleged argurrrerrts that 
have ever been pronrrdgated in pr-oof of the irorr-Shakspeariarr 
Mulhor'ity of wlnif is known jis the wor-ks of William Sliaks- 
pear-e. 



St r-atford-orr-Avon. Aug. tj. lMi)5. 
.\ Tew yciirs ;igo 1 mh'I ;in Kriglishmarr A\ho was nrakiug 
a bi-ief summer- tour- (if the I'nited St;i1es rind ('ariada. In 
addition to the usual atiractions of the countries h(^ was to 
visit, such as Saratoga and Niagara Kails, he had determinerl 
to select for visitation one place which should combine beau- 



70 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tiful rural scenery and literary celebrity. Three sneh places in 
particular presented themselves, each having in its peculiar way 
the double attraction alluded to. These were Irvington on 
the Hudson, Concord, Mass., and Cooperstown, N. Y. For 
certain reasons his choice fell upon Otsego Lake, with its 
harmonious setting of hills at the source of the Susquehanna, 
and to my mind he could not have done better. To an Amer- 
ican visiting England in searcli of country scenes enhanced 
by the charm of letters, one place in particular attracts him, 
and that is AVarwickshire, tlie garden of England, and the 
l)irthplace of Shakspeare, Landor. and George Eliot. It is 
well for the stranger coming to this much frequented part 
of England, to bear in mind that there is more than one lit- 
erary celebrity intimately associated with this region. Dur- 
ing my few hours' stay in Warwick my interest was natur- 
ally divided between the well preserved Warwick Castle, with 
its walls Avon-washed, and its distinguished prose-poet AVal- 
ter Savage Landor ; and I was amazed to find how little this 
remarkable man is cared for in his native town. Besides a 
bust in St. Mary's Cathedral and the inscription of his name 
and birth-date on the house where he was born, there seems 
to be nothing in the county of Warwick, and I might say 
in England elsewhere, to preserve the memory of a man whom 
Shakspeare might gladly have admitted to participation in a 
common literary renown. It is difficult at first thought for 
a stranger, especially one acquainted with his real merit as 
an author, to understand why Landor is so neglected in Eng- 
land; but much light is thrown upon the situation when we 
come to understand the man's strange personal characteristics. 
Landor 's unpatriotic spirit was most pronounced. His openly 
expressed contempt for England, and especially liis bitter hos- 
tility to the English government, not to mention his self-im- 
posed banishment to a foreign country, were offenses too great 
for his contemporary countrymen to condone. It is to be hop- 
ed that another Warwickshire generation, jealous of the glory 
reflected upon it by so rare a man, and willing to forgive his 
extravagant faults, will deem it just and wise to supplement 
even 'Shakspeare 's fame by causing Landor 's name to be as- 
sociated with his in some humble way at Stratford. Another 



LETTERS 71 

character of Warwickshire birth, already mentioned, who de- 
serves at least a modest place beside the great bard, is George 
Eliot. I have little doubt but that in years to come the vis- 
itor will find here in Stratford memorials of both Laudor and 
George Eliot. It is one of my regrets in leaving England that 
time has not sufficed to visit the early home of this genius 
among women, to see Avith my own eyes what is so vividly 
depicted in the beautiful illustrated volume entitled "George 
Eliot's Land." At Kenilworth we were within a few miles 
of Arbury Park, but could not spare the time to go there. 

Other places in Great Britain I have left after a brief stay 
with something akin to resignation. This place I shall leave 
most reluctantly. Three months would be little enough time 
in which to gain a satisfactory acquaintance with what is 
of superlative interest in this famous county of England. 
One ought to walk to Kenilworth a dozen times, and unac- 
companied, to take in the quiet beauty of the landscape with 
its rich relief of storied castle and Avith its numerous objects 
of quaint historic and traditional interest. We never can 
know a landscape until with many repetitions we wall^ through 
it musingly and alone. 

Last March a tornado of great severity swept over this 
portion of England, leaving in its track marks of destruction 
pitiful to see. Hundreds of the giant elms which grace the 
roads in all directions, and which give the country one of 
its greatest charms, were uprooted, and their huge wrecked 
bodies are seen at frequent intervals skirting the way. 

Nothing more appropriate could be conceived of as a means 
of honoring the memory of England's great poet than the 
Shakspeare Memorial Building. This structure, the gift of 
Charles Edward Flower of Stratford, had its corner-stone laid 
on Shakspeare 's birthday, April 23, 1877, and was dedicated 
just three years later. It stands on the west bank of the 
Avon, a short distance above Holy Trinity Church. The de- 
sign of the building is three-fold, and in this respect the con- 
ception is most happy. It is at once a theatre, a picture 
gallery, and a library, all these three phases being essentially 
Shakspearian. The last week in April of each year, or rather 
the week including April 23, witnesses here a superb repre- 



iJ \ir(>i!i(u;K \riiv 

st'iitnlion of one o\' Shaksprari- "s plays by the hi'sl known 
hist rioiiii' talent. A point oi' spcrial lutiM'cst in Ihr lti-in>iiiiji' 
on ot" tlu' annual play is ttir ^I'cat pains taken in rlioosini*" 
llu' text anil in |>fopor staj^'ini;'. In niakiiiii' this choii't" the 
best trailitions of Shakspcarian tlraniatii' [X'rI'orniaiU'ts arc stu- 
diously si-rut iiii/od. 'Plu' ronunittoc ha\inj:: thr inattri- in 
(•liaciii' issue each ycaf in panqihlct I'orui the pla> ol" that 
year just as reuiK'iHHl t)\ tlu' Moniorial conipany. A I'opy 
{^\' Winter's Tale, eonrteonsly pi'eseuted to nie l»y the libra- 
rian, shows some uni(|ne features, The whole text appears, 
the parts aetually reeiteil beiuii" in lai'^er typi> than tlu> parts 
omitted on the staii'e. with sliii'ht ehauires in words auil phrases, 
always with metrieal eleiianee, to soften the oeeasional iiross 
expiv'ssions and st'utinu'uts unsuited to the taste o\' the niiu'- 
ti>eutli eentury. Tlu^ pietuiv' iiaUery and library, wholly dis- 
tinct from tht> theatre i>roper. are essentiall\' distinct from 
each other, while bi>th i-ontaiu Shakspeariau rtdies which .u'ive 
them an antiquarian appearance. .Vmouii' the paiutiniis. in 
additi(ui to several of Shakspeare himself, are found portraits 
of the leadiuii' actors w lu> ha\e appeared at these Stratford 
annuals. The library cimtains all the editimis oi' Shakspeare's 
plays e\ cr issucil and all bt>oks treatiui;' o\' his life and works. 
t'Xeept inii'. oi' coursi\ tlu>se that aie monstrously luM'ctical as 
to th(> authorship of the pla\s. The edition o[' tlie pla\s eil- 
ited by Hi'. Horace IKnvard Kurness of riiiladelphia. is i>f 
course here, and it is jdeasiuii" to .Vmei'iean pride t(» know 
that it is ciuu'i'ded \o be the best. .\n interest in^i' thiuii' 1o 
be seen in the library is a collection of well i>i'eserved bo- 
tanical specimens, eacli labcleil and containing;- a line or two 
from Shakspeare illustratiuii' every tlower aiul plant mentiiui- 
vi\ in the [uM't "s works, the (|iu>tation subscribed in I'ach case 
beiuii' the ptu't "s allusit>n to the (lower or |>lant in ipiestion. 
In marked contrast to the tu-diiiary ushers. \eri:'ers. and 
cii'crones we ha\t' been accustomed to meet m Kniilaiul. there 
are two ucnt K'UUMi installed here at Stratford who desi-rve 
a passiuii' word o\' favoi'able comnuMit. The}' are Mr. Kich- 
ard Savaj.i'(>. ftu- several years in charii'c i^i' the Shakspeare 
House, and Mr. W. Salt Brassiniiton. P. S. A., recently plac- 
ed in chariic o\' the Slnikspcare Memorial Library. These 



LLTTEK8 73 

^((•ntlciiiiMi ate of siipcfior t^cfi<Tn) inlflJiK<;n';f;, specially qual- 
ificrl \'(,v the t'cliiiicjii (lut.i<;K llicy arc diHrK'-'l vvilli, and ex- 
tn;fri(;ly coiirlfoiis. in reply to lh«- qiieslion as to which in 
the corn-el i'Drrn. Si ralfonl-upon-A von or StraH'ord-on-A von, 
.Mr. liffi,s.siri»^ton .sjiif! tin- pr« prjsit ion was sup(r in the original 
(ioeuniinl.s. aiifl tlial each p<'rKon n\\^h\ translaU; it, to suit 
hinisfir. ll<- writes Stratford-upon-Avon. The fine extended 
view froMi the tower of the .Meinorijil liiiildio!^^ which should 
not Oil any ae(!(junt he missed hy lh(; tourist, is a rnild repro- 
duction of that from Stirlin*^ Castle, while it is amid associ- 
ations unefjualed \)y anythinj^ hatllefiehjs can '^ive. • jii-uce 
i[i\(\ Wallace are not Shakspeare. nor is the \\\u(\'\u*4 F(»rlh. 
narrow and deep, with all its lioh Koy romance, to he eom- 
par<'<| with the silvery Avon. 



Colocailo S|>riiieH. ( ol., 

.Inly 20. 1W5. 
I'iditor of 7'li,c .Mtjaidani' < r : 

A hrii-f letter from a <^/orliam iioy who has visited Tike's 
Pf^ak ma.v he of interest to your readers, as th<!re is nuich 
here that is suggestive of the White Mountain n^gion. C'ol- 
(»taflo Springs is of the same elevation as the summit of Mount 
Washington, or very nearly .so. Besides hr-ing a famous healtli 
resort, it has unusual charms of natural scenery, anrl is pe- 
cidiarly attractive as a plac(; of residence. Its natural feat- 
ure of first i»n[)ortance is I'ike's Peak, over 14.tjt)0 feet ahove 
sea level, higher than the .Jiingfrau and more than twice as 
high as Mount Washington. 

From my eliamher window I havt- an etichanting view of 
its snow-streaked summit twelve; miles away. During the ten 
days of my stay here I have seen it cloud-chapped l)ut once, 
and then for a few hours onI\'. At almost any tinje an as- 
cent is ecrlain 1o l)e rewarded with a clear view from thie 
summit. The ease with .Mount Washington, as is well known, 
is fjuite diff'ererd. as its sunnnit is oftener conceal(;d hy clou<ls 
than otherwise. I have in my lifetime ascended Mount Wash- 
ington at least a dozen times, and rememher having but two 
trood views from the top. ft must he rem. inhered, however. 



74 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

that the best views from mountains are not always from the 
highest points. 

I made the ascent of Pike's Peak by way of the cog road. 
As I had once made the ascent of Mount Washington by a 
similar road, I was desirous of comparing the two pioneers 
in this manner of mountain climbing. We reached the foot 
of the cog road by trolley, going through Colorado City, once 
the capital of the state, and Manitou, famous for its soda and 
iron springs, a distance of five miles. • Our party, numbering 
about 150 persons, made the ascent of eight miles in three 
trains or sections, each section consisting of a locomotive and 
one car. The train had the same catchy, jolting motion which 
I remember to have characterized the climb up Mount Wash- 
ington. Our rate of speed was about five miles an hour, the 
rate being remarkably uniform for both ascending and de- 
scending. The road bed here is elaborately made and is grad- 
ed throughout its whole extent in the same manner as an 
ordinary railroad, in this respect differing from the White 
Mountain road, which, as is generally known, is made by lay- 
ing ties and timbers over the natural rocks. 

In point of barrenness near the top the two mountains are 
quite similar. Both have snow in some measure nearly all 
through the summer. The snow is much more conspicuous, 
and is more nearly continuous throughout the summer, on 
the Colorado than on the New Hampshire mountain, though 
even here, according to report, it usually disappears before 
the end of August. As we neared the summit, I found it 
convenient to put on a light overcoat, though the cold was 
not annoying. The absence of winds impressed me. in marked 
contrast to the fierce blasts that one almost always encounters 
on the Presidential range. Snow banks four or five feet deep 
in places, having a substratum of clear ice, were frequent, 
and in places covered several acres. Going a few steps down 
the side of the mountain, I brushed away the surface stratum 
and filled my cup with clean snow, which I ate with boyish 
relish during our descent. 

The cone of the mountain down the distance of three- 
quarters of a mile is in appearance and formation much like 
that of Mount Washington, being a heap of individual rocks 



LETTERS 75 

and boulders tumbled together in a most haphazard manner, 
the only apparent dilit'erence being that here the stones are 
smaller and of a decided red color. Wee flowers of varied 
hues cheer the sight all the way to the summit. The sur- 
rounding mountains, "Alp on Alp," are quite as compan- 
ionable as those sentineled by the giants of the White Hills, 
but are almost wholly devoid of trees or other verdure. A 
slight haziness, due no doubt to smoke, renders the distant 
horizon indistinct; otherwise Denver would be plainly visible. 
The lower half of the Pike's Peak railway, passing through 
and overlooking wild canons of marvelous rock formation, 
has far more picturesque scenery than that of Mount Wash- 
ington. And yet the hundreds of varied views one gets in 
passing over the Presidential range have an interest and charm 
of their own and are in their kind unrivaled by what one sees 
from Pike's Peak. 



Pasadena, California, 

July 27, 1905. 
It would be impossible to give you an adequate idea of 
the remarkable scenery we have passed through since leaving 
Colorado Springs last Saturday. In the scenic effects about 
Colorado Springs I imagined the limit of grandeur to have 
been reached, especially in what the South Cheyenne Canon 
had to offer, when the profusion and confusion of red giants 
of startling height seemed to threaten destruction at every 
step. But we found the canons of the Arkansas still more 
marvelous. Thirty miles south of Colorado Springs, at Pueblo, 
we struck the Arkansas River, at this point a swift, muddy 
stream, and followed it to its source, a distance of 140 miles. 
The most attractive feature along this wild route is the Royal 
Gorge, something quite exceptional for canon sublimity. In 
one place, a pass between huge mountains of perpendicular 
sides, a space too narrow for ordinary railroad building, the 
train passes over a hanging bridge, unique in kind, and, I 
fear, too technical for my powers of description. Nearly all 
the way to the divide, which is in the vicinity of Leadville, 
and where there is an elevation of 10,000 ft., we had on our 



76 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

left the snowy peaks of the Sangrc de ("risto range. The three 
highest of these peaks are named Yah'. Harvard, and Prince- 
ton. The western descent of the divide is riehl.y picturesque. 
Prom the mountain sides, along Avhieh our road wound, we 
liad in continual view a deep valley, through which a small 
stream, called Eagle River, threads its way. We passed Glen- 
wood Springs, a kind of Saratoga, on the Grand River, after 
(lark, and had the good fortune to sleep while entering the 
uninviting Salt Lake liasin, which we wM^re to traverse for a 
distance of a thousand miles. 

We found Salt Lake ( ity. on the whole, a disappointment. 
The excessive heat and prevalent dust were no doubt con- 
tributory to our feelings of mild disgust. The street cars, 
having for their service a mere apology of a road-bed, over 
Avhich are laid isiadequate ties and puny rails, are the worst 
imaginal)le. It was also an unpleasant surprise to find that 
the city is eighteen miles away from the lake. The accom- 
modations for getting to the lake are quite out of date and 
exceedingly trying to the patience. The conveyance is by a 
steam road having as a city terminal a dirty and unsightly 
station. The train is chiefly made up of observation cars 
unupholslered and. generally speaking, of a Rip Van Winkle 
type. To all this discomfort there remains to be added abun- 
dant smoke and cinders. Again, the railroad ends where the 
water used to be before the shrinkage of recent years, half 
a mile from the lake's present border. There is a creditable 
Casino here wdth as fine a dancing floor as is likely to be met 
with anywhere. Some of the business streets of Salt Lake 
City, and a fcAV of the residential ones, would be a credit to 
any modern, progressive city. We took a .jerky, see-sawing 
trolley to Fort Douglas, and while walking about tlie post 
were nearly broiled in the midday sun. 

The "show things" of Salt Lake City all smack of Mor- 
mondom. The buildings of the Latter Day Saints, — Temple. 
Tabernacle, and Assembly, are inclosed with an imposing wall 
ten or twelve feet in height, and are rich in appearance and 
architecturally grand. From a religious point of view it is 
impossi})le to regard the whole Mormon organization and ex- 
hibit as other than a farce. W(^ attended the Sunday service 



LETTERS 77 

in the Tabernacle, finding everything as previous reading on 
the subject had led us to expect. There was the huge audi- 
torium with a seating capacity of 10,000. There was the im- 
mense audience, a majority being gentiles, and in the cireum- 
stances of undevout spirit. There were the rows of elders, 
looking abnormally important. There was the mixed choir, 
of summer size only, probably numbering 150. Last, and 
not least, there was the great organ, manipulated Ijy elec- 
tric devices and presided over by a master. The organ vol- 
untary was, in points of execution, tone, and harmony, per- 
fection itself. It was the one thing in the service that had 
the air of devotiou. The service proper began with prayer 
by an aged saint, wliose voice was feeble and trembly, his 
elocution defective, his articulation indistinct. From what I 
Avas able to hear. 1 thought he prayed very much after the 
stereotyped manner of our orthodox clergy, using familiar 
New Testament phraseology with great freedom. Next came 
a hymn, in which the congregation was requested to join. 
The choir leader even turned towards the audience and mark- 
ed the time for them. As might be expected, the singing was 
not good. Both time and tune were wanting. Despite the 
emphatic use of the 1)aton. the laggards were much in evi- 
dence, and the loud organ notes nearly drowned the whole. 
It is unaccountable that in congregational singing, as in lit- 
urgical responses, there will always be a few "independents" 
bringing up the rcai' sonorously. Senator Hoar, in his Rem- 
iniscences, tells of a distinguished judge w^io was entertain- 
ing a company of his associates, and on Sunday took them 
all with him to the Episcopal Church. One of the guests, 
a devout churchman, was notable for long-drawn-out responses. 
As they were returning to the house after the service, one 
of the company, who had been humorously affected by the 
belated responses of the aforesaid gentleman, said to him : 
"Davis, why couldn't you descend into hell with the rest of 
us!" The sermon, nearly an hour long, was by a clear-voiced 
elder, or saint (the ]\Iormous have no clergy), every word 
of which could be distinctly heard in all parts of the vast 
auditorium. His theme was the reasonableness of further, or 
later, revelation. Christ being, not the end. but only one link 



78 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

in a long chain of prophets. The New Testament was quoted 
freely, the concluding verses of Revelation being obviously 
strained to favor the line of argument. After the sermon a 
male quartet, with doubtful success, came as a diversion. The 
first tenor had a voice of phenominal range and natural pur- 
ity, but of little effectiveness, as evidently he had never learn- 
ed how to sing. The other three voices were hardly more 
than ordinary. When the spirit moved an elder by the name 
of Smith, a low-pressure speaker, to rise and utter himself, 
a spirit of another kind at the same time moved us to retire, 
which we did regardless of frequent notices posted on the 
pillars requesting visitors not to leave until the end of the 
service. 

July 24 is celebrated at Salt Lake City as Pioneer Day. 
It commemorates the discovery by Brigham Young of this 
semi-desert land, which under artificial irrigation has been 
made to blossom as the rose. This day is here more honored 
than the Fourth of July. We went to the Park in the morn- 
ing and saw one hundred Indians, Bannocks and Shoshones, 
— men, Avomen, and papooses, who are brought in from the 
reservations to play a part in reproducing the scenes of 1847. 
It was a memorable sight — these befeathered and barbarously 
painted warriors and women, the former mounted on horses 
and equipped with the war implements of savagery. AVhen 
spoken to they were either silent or responded with a grunt. 
Pieces of raw beef were hanging here and tlierc^ among the 
branches in primitive aboriginal fashion. 

Brigham Young's monument, occupying a prominent posi- 
tion in the square near the Temple, represents the Mormon 
chief a])ove, full-length, and has around the base figures sym- 
1)olical of pioneer days — aboriginal and frontier life and char- 
acter being cleverly depicted. As a work of art, the monu- 
ment is more than respectable. 

AVe took the Southern Pacific route, and erossed by the 
famous trestle the northern end of Salt Lake. In one place 
the span of this trestle is ten miles long. After this came 
the real desert, where for a distance of 100 miles everything 
might, Avith some reservation, be described as some one has 
described Cairo — as "all sandy and Sphinxy." 



liETTERS 



79 



We crossed the Sierra Nevada mountains by daylight, 
finding tlic scenery in many respects new, especially as the 
mountains are generally pine-timbered to the very tops. Of- 
ten at our level, and but a few rods away, there were snow- 
banks. Extensive snow-sheds, almost continuous for 45 miles, 
are rather disenchanting, though through the cracks one gets 
a glimpse of landscape beauty. It is rumored that there is 
projected the doing away of a large part of these sheds and 
substituting instead extensive tunneling, an alternative not 
altogether pleasant to contemplate. 

California — land of sunshine, fruit, and flowers, with a 
climate of surpassing salubrity, may indeed be called God's 
Country. San Francisco greeted us with a cool breeze. We 
made no stay there, but intend to give it three or four days 
on our return north in August. Pasadena is altogether charm- 
ing, quite up to its high fame. Here the nights are not ren- 
dered sleepless by excessive heat. Last evening, in fact, while 
sitting on the porch after dinner, I found it comfortable to 
wear an extra coat. 



Pasadena, California, 

August 6, 1905. 
We have now been ten days in Southern California, and 
have been wide awake to the interesting features of this new 
country. It is something surprising, and agreeably so, to us 
in this place, as it was generally speaking in Colorado, to 
plan with confidence for an outing on any day, as we are 
in no fear of rain. At Colorado Springs, to be sure, there 
were occasional trifling showers. Here, however, at this sea- 
son, it does not rain at all : and still artificial irrigation, such 
as is common in Colorado, is not so elaborately resorted to. 
The nights here are rather too cool for comfort. At Colo- 
rado Springs there was no dew, whib^ here they haw heavy 
dews, and sometimes foggy mornings up to ten o'clock. In 
both places the atmosphere is exceedingly dry, so mucli so 
that during the past twenty days I have never perspired even 
in the broiling sun of midday. In Colorado the dryness is 
so extreme, that the horses' feet have to be done up in poul- 



80 ALTOBIOGRAPHV 

tiees two nights of the week to keep the hoofs from cracking-. 

Pepper trees and palms are prevalent here, no place be- 
ing complete without them. In some cases palms twenty feet 
tall and twenty inches in diameter that have been Tnken u]> 
elsewhere have been brought and transplanted. 

This is the h;il)itat of the mocking-bird. Its varied chat- 
ter, heard on ev(>ry hand, is almost constant. He mocks every 
conceivable noise, and for a while is entertaining, though at 
length he becomes tiresome. 

Pasadena is a small but beautiful city, exceptionally clean 
and devoid of everything offensive. The people, a large pro- 
portion of whom are wealthy, are a superior class. Among 
them is found a large sprinkling of reccMit arrivals from the 
East. 

Los Angeles, a city of over 200,000 inhabitants, is ten miles 
distant. It is a flourishing place, being noted for its great 
business opportunities, especially real estate transactions. In 
points of population, manufactures, and commercial enter- 
prise, it seems destined to take and liold the leading place 
among the cities of the Pacific coast. 

Day after to-morroAV we leave for San Francisco, intend- 
ing to spend five or six days there l)efore going on to Portland. 



Yellowstone Park, 
In Transitu. iVugust 22-27, 1905. 
In review thus far of our summer tour a few things seem 
to call for special mention. At Colorado Springs. Los Angeles, 
and Pasadena the bicycle, which is a "has been" in the At- 
lantic states, is more in vogue than it has ever been with us 
at the East. Once I had acquired a sixth sense by the aid 
of which I could avoid these annoying vehicles, but at the 
time of visiting the West and California T had completely 
lost this sense. On several occasions, at Los Angeles, I came 
near being run down by audacious cyclists. One of our most 
agreeable experiences has been meeting people from every 
section of this great country, and hearing them boast of their 
respective states. Every man thinks his own home environ- 



LETTERS 



81 



meut the best, his own section. "God's country." To my 
mind, this is a happy dispensation of Providence. If it were 
otherwise, this would be a doleful world. Whenever w^e have 
ventured to criticize adversely anything that displeased us, 
such as the unfavorable climate, the dryness, dust, or lack 
of verdure, we have been promptly met with the remark. 
"You ought to visit the Pacific coast in winter." We ran 
across many persons who knew acquaintances of ours. Two 
days before leaving Portland we had the pleasure of witness- 
ing, at th(^ fair grounds, the successful trial of an airship, 
balloon-sustained. It rose 200 ft., sailed a (juarter of a mile 
against a six-knot breeze, then returned to its starting place, 
and settled as gracefully as a dove. 

After leaving Portland, we went by rail down the west 
bank of the Willamette, and at some little distance below 
its junction with the Columbia crossed the latter on a huge 
ferry])oat. a vessel easily accommodating our train of nine 
cars and two locomotives. For about three hours before reach- 
ing Tacoma. we had in view Mt. Kainier. or Tacoma. some 
40 miles distant. It stands alone and is grandly impressive. 

Tacoma and Seattle, rival cities of Washington, are both 
situated on the south-east border of Puget Sound. Tacoma 
promised early to be the great city of the Pacific coast. It 
was a pet of the Northern Paeitic Railroad, whose shops were 
located there; but the oi)ening up of Alaska set commerce 
towards Seattle and gave that city such an impulse that in 
a short time it outstripped its rival; it has at the present 
time a population of 160.000. more than twice that of Tacoma. 
The Northern Pacific has to go out of its way and do homage 
to Seattle, its trains even being compelled to return over the 
same track for a distance of 20 miles before proceeding east. 

We came by way of Butte and reached Livingstone at 6 
A.. M.. after a quiet journey, chiefly uninteresting because 
we crossed both mountain ranges in the night. At Livings- 
stone we diseinbarked in a pouring rain, and found difficulty 
in getting to cover, as a long w^est-bound express was stand- 
ing between us and the station. We had to resort to the 
awkward expedient of climbing through the rear end of a 
vestibuled car. From Livingstone to the entrance of the Park 



82 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the 50 miles journey is by rail along the attractive Yellow- 
stone River. We reached Gardiner at 10 A. M. 

A stone arch, erected bat a few years ago, the corner stone 
of which was laid by President Roosevelt, marks the entrance 
to the Park. After leaving Gardiner, for two and one-half 
miles the way is over Montana territory. Ever after this we 
were to be in Wyoming, Avhich contains, essentially, all the 
government reservation. At a distance of five miles from 
Gardiner we came to one of the most important stations in 
the Park, Mammoth Hot Springs. This place has an altitude 
of more than 6,000 ft. It is important as being the post where 
the Government has a troop of cavalry. The great attraction 
of Mammoth Hot Springs, pt'rhaps the greatest in the whole 
round of the Park, is Jupiter Terrace. Words are inadequate 
to describe this natural wonder. Possibly photography. M^hen 
it shall have reached the artistic stage of photographing col- 
ors, may be able to do it justice. 

It was for us a trying time the next morning, when we 
came to the assignment of places in the various coaches, in 
groups of eleven for each carriage. As we had made no ar- 
rangements for joining a party, we had to accept what chance 
offered. Names were called for the first load, and when this 
was out of the way, the second four-horse team pranced up. 
The master of ceremonies took his prepared list and read : 
"Two Wrights," and so on until he had reached the eleventh. 
There being two vacant seats, he verified the names of those 
already seated, and then with nnich particularity repeated, 
"Mr. and Mrs. John G. Wright." We saw "the hand- writ- 
ing on the Mall." and going forward, crestfallen, took the 
two seats (of course the least desirable in the coach) await- 
ing us, close under the driver's seat, where it was quite im- 
possible to see advantageously. Happily fortune had given 
us ideal companions, the very elect of nearly 100- — Mr. and 
Mrs. King, son and daughter, of Dayton, Ohio; Mrs. Paul, 
daughter and young lady friend of Wisconsin ; and on the 
driver's seat a Pittsburg gentleman and wife. Of these last 
we saw but little. It did not take long to get acquainted, 
and soon Mr. King and I were "swapping stories" with great 
freedom. Before reaching Norris, the end of our first stage 



LETTERS 83 

of 20 miles, Mrs. Paul suggested that for the afternoon there 
should be a change of seats. Think of that for unheard-of 
unselfishness and courtesy. It was the most impressive ob- 
ject lesson in manners I have ever witnessed. In fact, after 
luncheon all were in the same obliging mood, and a new deal 
in the seating was made. A little obiter dictum of the first 
day is worth mentioning. We were always on the lookout 
for elk and deer. Of a sudden Mrs. Paul startled us by say- 
ing in an animated tone of voice, "Oh, isn't it a dear?" We 
all sprang to our feet and in unison called to the driver to 
stop, and asked, "Where?" "Oh," she replied, "I merely 
saw a pretty red fiower. ' ' At Norris we first met with things hot, 
— ^bubbling, roaring, and steaming, what we were to find con- 
stantly afterwards. 

As we have now, August 27, "done" the Park, I will, 
hastily and somewhat at random, pick up the crumbs of our 
six days' experience. This wonderful nature-exhibit is pre- 
eminently noted for hot springs, or geysers, and protected 
wild animals. Nearly all else that is here can be duplicated 
elsewhere, and even bettered in most respects. We have seen, 
in one shape or another, during these days, more than 200 
hot springs. At the Upper Basin we found "Old Faithful" 
sending a column of water every 70 minutes to a height of 
nearly 100 feet. This was the best display of high spouting 
we were permitted to see. The "Paint Pot," found at "The 
Thumb" where we lunched, is a marvelous exhibition of va- 
ried and delicate tints. It boils and breaks in bubbles, very 
much like hasty pudding, over a surface of 40 square yards. 
Often these hot pools are but a few steps apart, and owing 
to their placid and innocent appearanc(\ beget in the visitor 
a carelessness that makes it hazardous to walk near them. 

Though Avc have been constantly on the watch for elk, 
they have not in a single instance been on view. Once only 
we saw two baby deer. They appeared in the road at the 
distance of a few rods in front of us, and timidly scampered 
into the woods. We saw the homes of beavers, and where 
they are sometimes seen. Their dams are in plain sight. As 
we approached the Lower Geyser Basin and the Fountain 
Hotel, we saw near the woods in the rear of the l)uilding a 



84 AlTOHIOUKAPllV 

lai'irt' iilack hear and her two (•ul)s. our first si^lil of tlicsc 
animals so thoroughly identified with YeiK)Avstone I'ai'k. At 
ihe I'pix'r (icyser IJasin is Old Kaithrul Hotel, const lueled 
of natural lo^s. of most ninisual ai'ehileeture. and said to 
cost :|<2()0,()()d. From the rooi' of this l)uii<linji'. ahout iiini' in 
tlu' eN'eninji". a powerful search liszlil was turned on ill;' ^ar- 
hage pile and tliselosed two lusty hears. Thex' seemed not 
to like the exi)0sure and immt'diately retired to the liud>er. 
The searchdiii'ht "vva.s also brought to hear upon Old Faithful 
in full gush. This was a uiuciiie spi'ctaele. At \'ello\\ stone 
Lake there were found congregated ;it the eating place nine 
hears, two of llu' gri/zly and seven of the hlack \arie1y. A 
crowd of people, sitting hut a lew rods away, were intent !>• 
wateldng them. 

Yellowstone Lake is ;-!() miles long and has an average 
width of ti\(' or six miles. It is 7,74-2 feet above se;i level. 
Iveing the largest lake in the world having so great an alti- 
tude. As seen from Tlu' Tluunb. it presents a picture of great 
beauty. Mountains, some of them having streaks of snow on 
their to])s. eneirido the greater part of the lake, at a distance 
of six ov eiglit miles from it. 

I nnist not fail to mention the famous colored canon. 800 
Teet deep, anil just above it the Lower Yellowstone Kails. 
This waterfall is 360 feet in height, considerably more than 
twice as high as Niagara, but comparatively narrow. The 
combination of canon and falls prodvu-es. in the way of grand 
effect, something rarely excelled. On a pillared cliff half w'ay 
down the sid(> of the gorge was an eagle's nest in which were 
two young eagles. They kept up a constant cry. as if hun- 
gry. As Ave eame down the Yellowstone River, we saw inun- 
berless ducks and geese. What hunting ground this would 
be for a while, if Uncle Sam would permit shooting! The 
only animals that may be shot in the Park by anyone arc^ 
mountain lions (])anthers') and cayotes. The goverinuent of- 
fers a rewaril of .^100 foi" every mountain limi killed. They 
are ver.v destruetive of the young deer. 

It is fortunate that Congress has entire (dutrge of this 
reservatii>n. for what the government does in such uuitters 
it can be depended upon to (\o well. Small stpiads of l'. S. 



LETTERS 85 

soldiccs ;if(' stationed at sliorl iiitcsrvals along thi; route;, to 
cnroi-cc the rules issued from Washington. Eaeli is armed 
vvitli (I revolve)'. With the exception of one or two men who 
lia\'e a special license to kill mountain lions, these soldiers 
are the only persons allowed to carry firearms in the Park. 

'I'lic road through the Park, made and kept in repair by 
the government, is the best possible. All citizens of the United 
States have an equal right to it. bul iniisl eoirii)ly with certain 
regulations. Neitlicr money nor fa\ <iri1 ism can buy a franchise 
of any sort in the i'ark. lleeeiitly a com|)any wished to secure 
the right of bottling the waters of a ceiiain spring of great 
excellence near Norris, but were denied tlie privilege. 

In our company through the Park there has been a lady 
with a ten-months-old baby. The lilth; fellow has been uni- 
formly brave and well-behaved, seeming to enjoy his outing 
quite as much as the grown-ups. Wh(n-i; we lunched at The 
Tliurnb the waitresses were crazy over him. 

I come with great reluctance to the subj(!c1 of trees. I 
speak of those in the Park as they have; impressed me. Such 
monotony of forest for 150 miles it would be difificult to find 
elsewhere. It would seem that in the creation Yellowstone 
I'ar'ls was provided -with but one kind of tree. The books, 
to l)c sure. It'll us of four vai'ietics, white |iine, jack pine 
(whatever that may be), fir, and black si)i'uee. [ defy anyone 
to distinguish one from another-. To me every tree seemed 
to be part pine, part spruce, and |)art fii-. They ai'e much 
like the Oregon fir. which is fdso called Oregon pine. 



MISCELLANEA 



THE TEACHER'S BURDEN. 

TO the familiar postulate, that the teacher makes the 
school, these later times have added with emphasis 
another dictum, that pedagogical science makes the 
teacher. Insistence upon professionalism is the battle cry 
of modern educators. Much of what has been written and 
said about the science of education, however, has no special 
bearing upon secondary instruction. For instance, Froebel, 
the nonpareil of pedagogical reformers, in his great work, 
"The Education of Man," deals almost wholly with children, 
and has no serious message for those engaged in ad-vanced 
teaching. Nevertheless the teacher of the secondary school 
must heed the spirit of the times, and be willing to know 
the last thought in connection with his profession. For it 
is inevitable, as it is reasonable, that inconsistency will be 
charged against those who criticize principles they have not 
taken the trouble to examine. The teacher would ])e foolish 
indeed, who should presume on a lack of distinctively pro- 
fessional knowledge. The man who thanked God for his 
ignorance, was told that he had much to be thankful for. 
At the same time there is a significance in the frank admis- 
sion of some of the leading writers upon education. It is 
the conviction of Rosecranz, that treatises written upon edu- 
cation abound more in shallowness than any other literature ; 
that shortsightedness and arrogance iind in it a most congenial 
atmosphere, and that uncritical methods and declamatory 
bombast flourish as nowhere else. Professor William James 
candidly tells us that there is no new psychology worthy the 
name, and that to know psychology is no guarantee that we 
shall be good teachers. He also warns the conscientious young 
teacher against the belief that the word "apperception" con- 
tains a recondite and portentous secret, by losing the true 
inwardness of which her whole career may be shattered. The 



88 MlsrKl.l.AXKA 

principles underlying dIIut i)iH)fessions. like that of Ihr law, 
ai"e reasonably fixed and relialile; and, ■what is belter, are 
readily eouipreheiuled by ordinary minds. Not so with peda- 
gogy. Its philosophical terminology is greatly confused, even 
the word "perception" nu^aning different things with ditt'ereid 
writers. 

It' it be allowed that thfrc is a science of education, it 
is the most unfortunate of sciences in the coutradictoriness 
of its authorities. Thring sa\s. '•The land is full of author- 
ities, so different in kind that they cannot all be right." 
There seem to bi' but few general principles of pedagogy 
that writers and thinkers accept with anything like unanimity. 
Resides, nuu-li that is %vritten upon the subject is altogether 
transitory, accepted for the moment, but soon forgotten. One 
of the most prominent educational principles of the present 
(lay is that of "interest," which has been, with somt* levity 
and injustice, catalogued as "soft pedagogy." At best this 
doctrine is only a partial truth; but. so far a.s it is a truth, 
it is valuable and to be recognized. Herbert Spencer giv(>s 
his assent to this doctrine, in declaring that all true study 
should be pleasant. Now, nuu'h of instruction eatuuit ordin- 
arily be made pleasant. An eminent Avritei- upon pedagogy 
says, "It is nonsense to suppose that every step in edueaticui 
can be made interesting." How many teaclu'rs of English, 
after years of special discipline, find the wi-iting of English 
composition a I'cal pleasure.' What. then, nnist the pupils' 
experience be in an exercise that is of the first importance at 
evei-y stage of an education? There is another signitii'ant 
principle that goes counter to that of interest and pleasure 
— the principle of work for work's sake. To neglect this 
principle is to disregard experience. Plato, in his ])hilosoj)]iy 
of education, combines effort and attractiveness. 

Quite in contradiction of I'estalozzi's statement, that it 
is impossible there should be two eipudly good methods of 
teaching, and his implication at least, that in education the 
w^ord "nu'thod" has no plural, in experience it will always 
be insisted thai different piM-sons may use different methods 
advantageously. As in the case of the sick, the same remedy 
acts differentlv on different individuals, so the same methods. 



MISCEIJ>.\NKA 89 

in llif luiiids of (lifii'ci-cril tcachi-is. inny act variously on dif- 
Fcfcnl |)ii|)ils. The <'old bath wliicli ciuvd Augustus killed 
.Marcclliis. I'lofi'ssoi- .Jajiics voicM's tlic rational view when 
h(* declares that eonerete experience rinist prevail over psycho- 
logical deductions. This suggests the ridicuh' vvliicli xMoli(;re 
easts upon lliose doctors who tliink it better to fail by rule 
thmi to siKMMM'd b\' inno\'atioii. "If we miss the itinrk." says 
MucHiibiy. "il iiirikes no (liffcicnci' wlielher we aini too high 
or too low." Again Si. Augustine: "A golden key which 
does not fit the lock is useless. M wooden oni' which does is 
I'ver'vt liing. " It must be jtdniitted tlnit good residls ji re scune- 
tirries obtained by disregard of lules. <o)i'1lii' dislik'ed Latin 
granmiar exceedingly. an<l only leu rued il because the Hrst 
l)ook lie studied was in rhyme. 

Educators entertain wi(lel\ diffei-ent views in regard to 
the cultivation of the memory. IJousseau thinks the true 
aid foi" menxtry consists in not aiding it at all. a view almost 
univej'sally discountenanc(Ml. An incident i-onnected with my 
personal experience may be peiiinent lieic For years I had 
tried with but partial success to distinuuisli betwei-ii the 
""While Rose"" and the "Ked kose" of Knglisli history, at 
eriticfd limes being unable to ti'll which |)lirase belonged 
to the Yor-k'isis and wliicli to the Laneast riaiis : but after 
having \isited the city of York, and having seen the white 
stones in the old H<»man wall. I had no furthei- difficulty with 
the matte)-. ("omeniiis tlioiijilit writing a gi-eat aid to the 
memory ; while Kadestock claims that the disco\'er"y of th(^ 
art of writing lias been harmful, to the memoiw. .Vnother 
high authority says that there is no such thing as a general 
strengthening oi' memory, but thai Ihe mi'inory may be spe- 
<;ially cultivated in some i)articulai" directions. He would not 
speak of ''a faculty" of memory, but of "friculties" of memory. 

Few things are more iini\-ersally agreed ii|)(»ii among teach- 
ers than the importance of forming rigid habits. Yd Kous- 
seaii Ims a famous epigram to the couli'a ry. that the only 
habit a child should be allowetl to foi-m. is to conti'act nn 
liabil whatever. 

Neither Plato noi- Rousseau woiibl allow a child to see a 
lK)ok until its twelfth year, a point al which modern e.xlicm- 



90 MISCELLANEA 

ists of another sort would have a child half educated in book 
learning. The more practical Pestalozzi was far from thinking 
that the first twelve years of a child's life should be spent, 
as Rousseau puts it, "in losing time." The one conspicuous 
drawl)ack to modern education, as candid observers see it, 
is, that the pupil, before reaching the secondary school, knows 
so little how to use books. 

Every writer upon the subject of education, even the most 
eminent, seems to have his ''devil's moments," when he gives 
utterance to sentiments that are too absurd and foolish for 
belief. One of the most extra,ordinary of these is Herbert 
Spencer's disciplinary })unishments liy natural consequences. 

A favorite^ principle that all leading authorities folloAV is 
this: that generalization should never precede individualiza- 
tion, tlie rule never precede the example, and that there should 
he no dctinition Ix^fore actual experience; but the teacher 
of the secondary school can hardly preserve the invariable- 
ness of this rule. He finds the practice of making the rule 
by inductive examination a wearisomely slow process. It is 
unreasonable to claim that this tediousness is visionary, and 
that in the long run time is always saved by following the 
rule. Imagine the student evolving for himself by much read- 
ing and observation the rule in Latin prosody, with its excep- 
tions, for dissyllabic perfects and supines. The teacher is 
obliged, in actual experience, to see that there are two sides 
to a question. Whatever philosophical principles may be estab- 
lished for the guidance of teachers, expediency will still insist 
upon deviating from them. .No)i inulia, sed multum is a beau- 
tiful and taking principle in education, but it is overruled 
by the practical demands of the nineteenth century. How 
true it is, that the only perfect teachers are those who do 
not teach, but who merely talk and write about teaching! 
Good teachers are rarely known to boast of their professional 
slvill. TlK^reau tells of clergymeu who ahvays spoke of God 
as if they had a monopoly of the subject. A similar remark 
applies to some writers and lecturers upon education. 

Api'opos of the surprising disagreement among teachers 
of the same subject, it may be questioned whether any three 
specialists in such a branch as physiology for instance, who 



MISCELLANEA 91 

shonUl chance to meet, would be t'ouud able to agree upon 
the pr()})ei' place and scope of their subject in a secondary 
school. Writers on education are at times inconsistent to 
the extent even of disowning their own cardinal principles. 
It is said that everything Rousseau did tended to lessen the 
influence of everything he wrote. Men must, of course, be 
allowed to grow wiser. Within certain rational limits it may 
l)e claimed lliat wise men change their minds, while fools 
never do. It would be an anomaly, if a teacher were not 
to change his methods within a period of ten years. Wash- 
ington Irving thinks that a change is sometimes agreeable, 
even from 1)ad to worse. Comenius is said to have written 
an interesting and instructive book on "The Art of Retracting 
One's Own Opinions." 

Educational reformers reach the height of presumption in 
assuming that until the revelations of the present century all 
education can have been hardly other than ])ad. Their ultra 
dogmatism declares the success of most of the so-called great 
teachers of the past to be mythical. They emulate Socrates 
in this at least, a thorough love for making men look small, 
and verify a well-known saying, that he is a fool who has 
no philosophy in him, but not so much so as he wlio has 
nothing else but philosophy. "The'darkness of too much light" 
is paralleled in the foolishness of too much philosophy. The 
policy of such reformers seems to be. "See what is now doing, 
and do just the opposite." "To be a radical," said Garfield, 
"without being a fool, is a matter of no small difficulty." 

AVhen a young man begins the study of law he is intro- 
duced to Blackstone and Kent, being confident that he is to 
learn principles that are fundamental and enduring. When 
a young man begins to study for the profession of teaching, 
he is introduced to almost numberless treatises on education, 
for the most part contradictory in principles enunciated, there 
being, furthermore, no assurance that the system promulgated 
by any one of them is likely ever to ])e declared sound, or 
even to last for a generation. Why cannot education, as well 
as civil law, somewhere^ unearth its "Pandects of Justinian," 
to produce a genuine i-enaissance in this muddled profession 
of ours? It is discouraging, and at the same time humiliating. 



92 MISC'ELLANKA 

1() have, not only the most libecal anioiiii' psychologists, hut- 
even some of thi' radicals among' the new echu'ationists. con- 
fess that as yet th<> science of education makes no pretentions 
lo exactness. 

!t is in connection with his art and its pi-actical applica- 
tion that the teacher has his more inunediate concei'us. The 
\itai (jni'stion is. ai'ter all. the successful putting (»f peda- 
gogical principles into operation. Sch(M)ls taught liy teachers 
who ha\c no professional training are said re]')roachfuliy to 
he woiidei-fully alike. .May not the allegation lie (juite as 
justly against schools con(hn-ted undei' the regime oT scientific 
principles .' 

Is it altogether a \ii-tue in the latter case. i)ut a fault in 
the ftniner.' It is. of course, absurd, as has l)een already 
shown, to sni)pose that all teachers, eveu if they know the 
most a[)i)ro\-ed pedagogical ai't and philosophy, can apply 
these in the same manner with success. Rigid uniformity 
in giving instruction, is. indeed, undesirable. It is claimed 
by Radeslock that we should soon have no great men. if a 
stereotyped systtnn of education succeed(>d wholly in forming 
the children under its intluem-e. Richter hints that for the 
])rop;'r education of tiis child, a man. if rich enough, should 
app(»int a special teacher for each of his child's faculties, who 
should direct that faculty only. The I'ersian ])rince of (dden 
times, at the age of fourteen, was. in fact, turned (»ver to 
four royal schoolmasters — one of them the v\-isest, another the 
most moral, a thii'd the most temperate, and the fourth the 
most valiant man in the kingdom. 

Much of pedagogy im])lies that the teacher is to deal with 
a siugle pupil, rather than a (M>nsiderabh' nundier taken to- 
gethi'r. In reality the teacher is exjiected to be ade(|uate 
for (lex-eloping all the fa<'ulties. not oidy of one i)U|)il. lutt 
of many and dissimilar ones. It is silly to expect the teacher 
to be able to bring about a harmonious (levelo[)ment of all 
the faculties of each pupil. Much of the philosoi)hy of edu- 
cation breaks down, because the teacher has to deal with large 
numbers. For the poor schoolnuister art is long indeed. Tt 
is HaAvthorne's discouraging thought, tliat if a num lived 
only to eat. one life would not suftice. not (udy to exhaust 



MISCKI -LANKA D^i 

the pleasure of it. but even to gel tlif fiidiinciits oi' i1. TIkm-c 
is a feeling of relief to be derived from an epigraniatic .school- 
master's summing up of the teacher's necessary ('(luiiinicnt, 
"a knowledge of his subject and a sense of humor. "" The; 
demand is, indeed, much greater llimi this, lie is in h idcji- 
siirc responsible For the physienl rind iiiornl ^rowlh nf his 
pupils, besides bi'in^' essen1iMll\' responsible for Iheii' inlel- 
iectual <ir()\\ili. lie ninsi undei'sland \\[r inlricMle subjeel of 
culture epochs. He nnist be a psNcholoiiisI . mikI nnderstaiid 
the nature. jiTowth. and nianiK-r of setpicnec ol' the states 
of ('(Misciousness. No wondei- that in his human wenkness 
lie at tiiiu'S despairs, and. to esca[)<' fr<mi sin-li a complica- 
tion of knowledge, decides at leiiiith to take advice from his 
common sense, or to Fall back u[)on the j)hiloso])hy of the 
unconscious and be classed as "'a teachei- by the jiraee ol' (rod." 

After all. the true test oF teachinji- is said to be. not how 
the master teaches, but how the pupil learns. When it comes 
to the matter of r(!sults. the best warranted i)i'actic(-s and 
the most rigid following of all that is laid down in tln^ rules 
of our profession will oFten Fail. Thei-e is the dnil and unre- 
sponsive mind of the puj)il A\'hich thwarts the best etforts. 
Dr. Stewart, chief inspi^ctor of schools in Scotland, estimates 
that there are five pei* cent, of clever childi'en. ti\'e per cent, 
of dunces, and ninety j)('r cent, of those of a\'erage ability. 
This, if true, is a source of consolation to the teacher, who 
not unfrequently meets in real life cases like the Htonian Ijoy, 
whose exercises were declared to be infei'ior to those of his 
younger brother. The reproved one I'.xcused himself by say- 
ing, "Please, sir, he hasn't been here so long as I ha\c." I low 
gladly would one. if he could, adopt the plan of Confucius. 
and tviU'h only the br-ight ])upils. When Coiifucius had |)re- 
sented one corner of a sul).ject and the listener could not Fi'om 
it learn the othei- three, he Axould not re])ea1 the lesson. 

There is danger that the modern demand for professional 
training may become so strong as t(t bi' |)re,)udicial to general 
academic culture. This only shows that all r(.'form naturally 
goes to extremes. Foi'tunately the next reform cry is likely 
to be in the direction of thoi-ough special scholars!) i]). For 
a two years' course of professional training. inst(^ad oF gi\ing 



94 MISCELLANEA 

SO much attention to the abstruse and uncertain phik^sophy 
of education, those preparing to teach will devote at least 
one-half of the time to the study of their special subject or 
subjects, and to learning luiw. through the example and inspi- 
ration of properly qualitied instructors, these subjects should 
be taught. When an enthusiastic and progressive teacher 
asks advice, as is often done, as to which of two courses he 
shall pursue in taking up summer school work or Saturday 
university lectures, whether the choice shall be pedagogy and 
psychology, or special attention to the particular sul)ject to 
be taught, there is but one possible answer. The choice must 
be for a knowledge of the special subject and how to teach 
it. P^or this work the personal inspiration of a competent 
professor is indispensable. This knowledge cannot well be 
obtained from books, while the mere reading of pedagogy 
may sulifice for that subject. A few books by the best thinkers 
contain all that is worth reading on the science of education. 
If real, living educational philosophers were numerous enough 
to go around, so that it would be easy to come under their 
intiuence, the case might be somewhat different. It is. on the 
other hand, easy to tind an expert instructor in any branch 
of academic study, under whose immediate skill and mag- 
netism one would not fail to receive important aid. Some 
of the best teachers 1 have known, even those who had but 
a meagre academic and professional education at the outset, 
have attained proficiency by coml)ining with native encu-gy 
and perseverance such aids as those referred to. Do the best 
we can to spirit away the present conflict betwcHMi the demands 
for a liberal and well-rounded scholarship in the teacher and 
a thorough professional equipnn'ut. the conflict is there. To. 
take a portion of the regular college course for pedagogical 
study is nothing less than robbing Peter to pay Paul. Imagine 
a teacher who in his college course had specialized in ehemis- 
ti-y to tlie neglect of English or history. Better for the teacher 
even the ]i])eralizing influence of a well-conceived college 
course. M'here in accordance with the demands of culture 
epochs a timely interest may be aAvakened in important sul)- 
jects that otherwise might never form any part of the student's 
apperceptive possessions, than any decisive specialization with 



MISCELLANEA D5 

a view to becoming a teacher. Better the complete scholar- 
ship, tinstiiig chiefly to the ac(iiiiring of special and profes- 
sional ecjuipment and knowledge of subject while teaching. 
There is danger, also, it must l)e admitted, in prolonging the 
period of preparation for the work of teaching until too late 
for the licst interests of the teacher. Those who defer teaching 
until a late period lack something which an earlier experi- 
ence gives and which can never be made good by any amount 
of assiduous labor. There is a delicate moulding and adapt- 
ability for school management whicli coiiics from such earlier 
experience. 

An artist may be able to draw ii good head, and a good 
body, but be unable to place tlie bead properly upon the 
shoulders. So the teacher may possess excellent individual 
accomplishments, but be unable to make them, when com- 
pounded, result in practical success. The greater the painter, 
it is said, the less able he is to descril)e the mechanical methods 
by which his results are obtained. So sometimes tlie greater 
the teacher, the less able lie is to explain his po"wer. If 
.-Eschuylus "did what was right without knowing." may there 
not be really good teachers "who practice an art the principles 
of which they do not understand?" If w^e judge by results, 
some teachers succeed, as has been already intinuited. l)y the 
use of very left-handed methods, but methods which it avouIcI 
lie disastrous to disturb. They have rare native gifts for 
securing the attention and awakening the interest of their 
pupils, one of the essential poAvers of the teacher. It is well. 
nevertheless, to bear in mind that a considerable portion of 
th(^ teaching of the W'Orld must ahvays be done by mediocrity. 
l)y those even incapable of fully understanding or using a 
sublimated philosophy, but Avho can at least understand and 
use to advantage the essential rules laid down for the prac- 
tice of their art. Yet the best there is in the best teachers is 
an indescribable originality, and Avhatever those in authoritj' 
may do. it Avill be tlie part of unAvisdom to cri))()!e this native 
faculty by imposing upon it too many rules and limitations. 

Rosencranz defin(\s the system of education as fi\M'-fold^ — 
in the family, in the school, as a trade or profession, political 
education, and religious education. What this school education 



96 MISt'Kl.l.ANKA 

is to he is in the main afi;i\'i'd upon, perhaps it always being 
understood as eneroachinii' somewhat on tlie domain of the four 
other ])hases mentioned. Most persons are a1 some linic or 
other dissatisfied Avith their edueation. though they al U'ngtli 
become eonvineed that, all things t-ousidered. it is good. While 
they regret that some particular subjects have hi'cn omit led in 
their ti'aining. they recognize, aftei- all. that the possession of 
these would imply the loss of what they already- have and value. 
Xo one lias yet defined satisfactorily the supei'fluous in educa- 
tion, or settled its limitations. The useful is eternally to be 
set against the cultural and disciplinary. Foi' comi)l(>te mental 
living, when the mind is stored with rich and \aried knowledge. 
no intellectual ac((uisition is trivial, nothing nncle.m. Some one 
has defended the study of Greek. Avhich from disuse so readily 
fades out of the mind. b\' an agricultural figure, iik'ening it to 
clover plowed under. It is iiuleed out of sight. uiuU'r ground, 
but it fertilizes the soil and makes it capable of producing other 
ci'ops in nuu'h greater abundance. On the other hand there are 
marvelous i'xam])les of intellectuality produced within a nar- 
roAV range of subjects. Almost all the education of the intcdhM-- 
tual Greeks consisted in talking and listening. Their greatest 
poet is an extreme case. ^^lacaulay thinks Homer did not knoAv 
a letter. Alexander Avas educated t)n Homer. Demosthenes, as 
an important part of his education, transcrilx-d six times the 
history of Thucydides. 

There are periodic spasms in regard to \\\\i\\ siionld be a 
part of an (ulucation. and when the spasm is on. woe to him 
who t|uestions its validity. For a teacher to (piestion these 
whims when once they gain sway, is to be temporarily damned. 
Some German professors go to the extreme of refusing to inn)art 
anything to their classes except their own original discoveries. 

It may be well to notice more specifically than has been 
already done the doubtful application of sonn- pi'inciples laid 
doMu by educational philosophers. Gomenius says, in writing 
of the method of recitaticni. "If any pupil who has been asked 
a (lut'stion fails, let the teacher go at once to the second, the 
third, and so on without repeating the question." Other and 
better authorities on this point tell us that thinking requires 
time ; that it may be a mistake to urge pupils to answer rapidly 



MiSCKLLANKA Vl t 

and praisi' the rcadit^st. "Kcpctition is the mother of succiiss, " 
says Riclitt^r. Another authority calls excessive repetition 
stupefying'. Aeeording to Radestoek impressions occurring too 
often anfl Avithout proper intervals cause a weakening of the 
nervous system. It is beautiful in theory to demand that the 
teaehei* tirst tind out the contcMits of the pupil's soul. b<'fore he 
can (h'al with tliat soul. All know how ijupracticable this is. 
in view of the large numbers that must be dealt with. One 
writer asserts that reviews are less important in th<' liigher 
than in the lower branches, but does not explain the grounds 
for tlie discrimination. (*ertainly the reason is not oi)vious. 
A greater satisfaction will be found in the enumeration of 
a few principles and rules which meet little oi* no dissent. Of 
such are the following: The teacher must be truthful; niusi 
have hope. i)atience. decision, dignity, and taci : nuist attend lo 
(h'tails and have forcsiglit ; must never ask questions he cannot 
answer himself; must avoid distractions and aim to be a good 
(juestionei' ; must not go too fast in teaching, for "you cannot 
tcacli a l)oy any faster than he can learn;" must never a(;cept 
an ungrammatical answer, nor sneer at a wi-oiig one. Th(^re 
is complete ass(^nt to the principle thai tlie niemory is pool- 
wlien the mind is tired; that one cannol both see and hear 
attentively at the same time ; that total rest is not conducive 
to good health ; that the physical organism needs alternation of 
rest and activity, and that in the matter of discipline one should 
never use a stronger measure when he can get along with a 
weak(M- one. The following from Herbert Spencer will be 
accepted as sound: " Xo intellectual power can become too 
great, but evei-y moral faculty needs to hav(^ its boundaries 
fixed; the aim of education should be to produce a self-govern- 
ing being; happiness is the most powerful of tonics; excess of 
bodily exercise diminishes th(^ power of thought ; educational 
systems are not made, but grow." This from Richter: "No 
power should be weakened, but its counterl)alancing power 
strengthened." From Conienius these: "Let the method of 
teaching lessen the labor of learning; let the teacher not teach 
as much as he is able to teach, but only as much as the learner 
is able to learn." "Take care not to overload the memory." 
says Penelon. "for that stupefies the brain." Prof. Bain. who. 



98 MISCELLANEA 

on HL-count of his candor aud the clearness of his writings, de- 
serves to be read by every progressive teacher, tells us that the 
first law of memory is, that we must prolong the first shock, or 
renew it on several successive occasions. He also says discrim- 
inatingly, tliat there are moments when we are incapable of 
i-eceiving any lasting impressions, and there are moments when 
we are uinisally susceptible. It is an epigramatic remark of 
Radestock. that to be tiresome is the greatest crime of the 
instructor. 

To sum up in conclusion of what may seem a ratlier pes- 
simistic view of the teacher's burden, as seen from its profes- 
sional side, a few general thoughts present themselves. The 
live teacher will at all events make it his business to know what 
has been said and is being said about his profession, even at the 
risk of reading what is visionary and valueless. A good rule is. 
to read tlie ])est books first. While it is not safe to assert that 
we have as yet "such an organized digest of philosophical prin- 
ciples as can together constitute a teaching profession," by a 
judicious study of the best that has been thought out in con- 
nection with education we eai] enlighten ourselves perceptibly 
and. what is always to be striven after, correct our mistakes, 
for "The faults of teachers," says George Washington Moon, 
"if suffered to pass unreproved, soon become the teachers of 
faults." It is even not to be denied that good advice sometimes 
comes from unexpected sources. Hogarth placed a reporter 
l)ehind a screen, to take down the remarks of people who came 
to see his famous painting of Sigisniundi. Of the thousand 
criticisms recorded Hogarth heeded l)ul one. and thai was made 
by a madman. 

It is unfortunate that the able and profound AVJ'iters on 
pedagogy are often so deep that only a small and specially dis- 
ciplined number of teachers will ever understand them. A book 
like Dr. Harris's "Psychologic Foundations," OM'ing lo its sub- 
tleness and profundity, is sealed to most pi^ople. Prof. James's 
writings, on the contrary, are clear and delightful reading for 
evc^n the wayfaring thinker. Nearly everything that Compayre 
has written is readable and worth reading ; so are the well 
known classics of Locke, Richter, Bain, SpcMicer and Penelon. 
While it may not result in nuich appreciable good, there is 



MISCELLANEA JJD 

agreeable mental stimulus in attending to the tiieory of the 
peduncles of the brain as exploited in the cosmic philosophy, 
or in watching the Herbartian '"ideas" as they are marshalled 
on the battle ground of the soul, or rise above the threshold 
into the upper dome of consciousness, there either to find a 
ehamber well filled with congenial apperceptive company, or 
meeting no welcome to be banished from the scene, perhaps 
never to return. These phases of philosophy are beautiful, 
but for teachers in general not inspiringly fruitful. It is ques- 
tionable whether Socrates even, if he were living, would be readily 
made to understand the Hegelian doctrine, that ''the universe 
is a crystallized syllogism." There is no greater educational 
folly of the day than the rejection of applicants to teach be- 
cause they are unable 1o answer glibly the abstruse questions 
set them in psychology. This exaction, now made such a bug- 
bear to teachers, is less rational than the civil service question, 
■'How far is the sun from the earths" asked of the man who 
was seeking a clerkship in the post office. The candidate wrote 
as an answer that he didn't know, but he felt sure that it was- 
n't near enough to interfere with the performance of his clerical 
duties. For the great majority of teachers the time employed 
in the study of such recondite philosophy would be better spent 
in reading Balzac's novels. 

To be a teacher of the highest order is to be one having 
these five possesions — special native gifts, general aeademic 
culture, knowledge of special subject, experience, and profes- 
sional training. As estimated by some one. ninety-nine per cent. 
of Patti's success as a singer has been due to her natural voice, 
and only one per cent, to cultivation. Of the best teachers it 
might consistently be said, that only one per cent, of their 
success is due to prof(>ssional training; equipment by nature, 
experience, and general and special culture being accountable 
for ninety-nine per cent. How and when to obtain all these 
essentials, except the gifts of nature, which, like grace, must 
come from on High, in what degree each is to be emphasized, 
and how to accomplish all this without deferring actual exper- 
ience beyond the age when the teacher is best moulded for 
school government and didactical skill — the solution of these 
questions, hitherto unsolved, is no small part of the teacher's 
burden. 



100 MISCELLANEA 



VIRGII/S FOrRTH E(M.()(U'K. 

IN somewhat loftier strains let us now sins. 
Sicilian Muses; not all take delight 
In vineyards and the humble tamarisks. 
If groves our subject be. let them be groves 
Deemed worthy of a consul's care. At length 
Has come the time told in Cumaean verse. 
Anew begins the age's cycle grand. 
Astraea now returns, and Saturn's reign. 
An offspring new from lofty heaven descends. 
Do thou, Lucina, on the new-born child 
But smile, the child with whom the iron age 
Shall cease, the age of gold world-wide begin. 
Apollo now inaugurates his reign. 
With thee as consul, Pollio. shall come 
This glorious period, its months speed on. 
With thee to lead, whatever vestiges 
Of strife remain, shall ineffectual be 
To keep the world in dread continual. 
The boy shall live the life of gods, and see 
Commingled gods and heroes, and by them 
Be seen, and with ancestral virtues he 
Shall rule in peace the tranquil world. But first 
For thee, O boy, the earth unfilled shall bear 
As gifts the ivy wandering at large, 
Egyptian beans and aromatic plants 
With mild acanthus mixed. Spontaneously 
The goats their milk-distended udders home 
Shall bring; nor shall the flocks the lions fear. 
The very cradle shall bring forth bland flowers. 
The serpent and deceitful poisonous herb 
Shall die, the Assyrian balsam everywhere 
Spring up. As soon as thou can'st read, and know 
True virtue's worth, the field shall by degrees 
Grow yellow with the gentle corn, red grapes 
Hang on the brambles rude, and hardy oaks 
Distill the dew-born honey. Yet some trace 
Of old-time sin shall still remain to tempt 
The sea in ships and place 'round cities walls. 
And furrows in the earth to cut. Again 
Another Tiphys there shall also come; 
Another Argo, too, shall heroes bear. 
And other wars also arise, and great 
Achilles shall again be sent to Troy. 
When afterwards ripe age of thee a man 



MISCEI.LANKA ' 101 

Shall make, the merchant shall desert the sea. 

Nor shall the nautic pine bear merchandise. 

All lands shall all things bear. No longer shall 

The ground permit the hoe, nor vine the knife. 

The stalwart plowman shall unyoke his bulls; 

Nor shall the wool false colors learn to take: 

The ram himself shall in the pastures change 

His fleece to blushing purple and to dye 

Of saffron hue, and rich vermilliou clothe 

The feeding lambs. "Such ages run," the Fates, 

In harmony with destiny's decree. 

Have to their spindles said. Great increment 

Of .Jove, dear offspring of the gods, begin 

(The time is near). Behold the universe 

In heaven's deep vault nods to and fro — both earth 

And wide expanse of sea and heaven profound. 

How all things at the coming age are glad! 

O may my term of life so long extend. 

My breath endure, as shall suffice to tell 

Thy deeds. Not Thracian Orpheus shall surpass 

Me witli his songs, nor Linus, thou.gh the one 

Calliope, the other Phoebus aid. 

E'en Pan, were he to strive with me, e'en Pan, 

His own Arcadia being judge, himself 

Would own defeat. Begin, frail child, witli smiles 

To recognize your mother. Ten long months 

Of tediousness has she been suffering. 

That child on whom his parents have not deigned 

To smile, no god will claim as table-guest. 

No goddeas deem him worthy of a bed. 



TIIK TKACIIKK'S Sl'CCESH. 

IF it is ti-iic thai IIh' hcsl lliiii^' iK^xt aftt'i- success is the 
conseiousnoss of deserving- to succcmhI, tlicii no out' is 
quite debarred from realizing' at least soriicthiiijt;' worthy 
of his effort. \vhate\'ei' tlie dii-ectioM of that eft'ort may be. Any 
l)resf'ril)ed rules thai may contribute to the success of the 
teacher would he 1 oo various and iti soiin^ cases too uncertain 
to wai'i'ant ,u(Mi<'i'al application. 11 is with teaching as it is 
Avith the ])ractiee of medicine. Ihe remedy that is salutary for 
one patieni may not be effecti\-e of cure witli the same disease 
in another. It niav he safe to assert as a o'eneral truth, that 



102 MISCELLANEA 

success implies enthusiasm about something. The converse of 
this, however, may not be true. That enthusiasm about any- 
thing always implies success is a statement subject to limita- 
tions; for unless enthusiasm be controlled by intelligence and 
good judgment, it may prove the very worst stimulus to action. 
It was said of an enthusiastic preacher that he hit the nail 
every time, but it was always with the head down. The im- 
portant thing is to hit the nail, not only every time, but with 
the head up. What another has said is pertinent in tJiis con- 
nection, that though a man has all other perfections and wants 
discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world. 

Back of enthusiasm, moreover, there must be. for the 
teacher's success, not only discretion, but sound academic 
training, and the more comprehensive this is the l)etter. It 
is the mistake of many young persons Avho expect to make 
teaching their life work, to underestimate this necessity. Later 
on, too late in fact, they are sure to wake to regret, when they 
ar(^ made to rc^alize, what some on(^ has obser^'cd. Ilial tlie edu- 
cation one misses in youth he rarely obtains in age. It is then 
that the fury of the past comes between his wishes and Avhat 
it is possible for him to attain. Garfield's maxim, if Ave are 
not too large for the place Ave occupy Ave are too small for it. 
is most apropos at this point. In vieAV of the demands made 
upon teachers at the present time in respect to severe scholar- 
ship, especially in city high schools. Avhere the teacher finds 
the best opportunities for pecuniary and other recognition of 
his abilities, the need of the best academic foundation is so 
exacting that it is perilous to disregard it. It pays, in eA'ery 
respect, to make extraordinary sacrifices in the Avay of schol- 
arly preparation for teaching, sacrifices that Avill be amply 
repaid in pei-sonal satisfaction as Avell as wages in later years. 
The situation is pitiful, after one has discovered marked apti- 
tude for his chosen work, to find himself shut out from the most 
desirable positions l)ecause he had not at the proper time ful- 
filled the conditions essential to the satisfying of a legitimate 
ambition. Every year it is becoming more cAndent that noth- 
ing less than a college education suffices for obtaining the 
highest positions in the teaching ranks. That some of the 
most efficient teachers, though lacking collegiate training, have 



MISCELLANEA 103 

gained and are now filling such positions acceptably, does not 
alter the fact. Nor does it help matters that a teacher holding 
a college degree is sometimes in nearly every point surpassed 
by one of inferior educational opportunities. The presumption 
in favor of the former will usually be decisive in giving him 
the advantage. Despite the sense of humiliation one feels at 
the frequency of appeals to the Germans when education is 
discussed, their superiority in the scholarly preparation of 
teachers must be acknowledged; and to this superiority nmst 
l)e credited much of their prestige in education. x\.s bearing 
\ipon this point, what Professor Miinsterberg says of himself 
may be not(^d. that during his entire course of secondary 
schooling he never had an instructor who lacked a post-grad- 
uate degree. 

Whatever view is taken of education as a science, even the 
vi<'W that there is, strictly speaking, no science of education, 
but tliat teaching is at most an art, the teacher will find it 
(juite necessary to his equipment to study the writings of the 
wisest observers and thinkers on the subject. This is demanded 
at the present time as a prerequisite to an engagement to teach 
in the most progressive schools. Even great scholarship does 
not suffice. Nor will it be accepted as a good excuse for neg- 
lecting its study, that pedagogy lacks the systematic order and 
(h'finiteness of, for instance, such a profession as the law. which 
lias a universally recognized body of principles and maxims 
in standard works. No single work on teaching as a profession 
is so recognized. 

Professor Miinsterberg insists that all instruction must be 
interesting; while Professor James says it is nonsense to sup- 
pose that every step in education can be interesting. He would 
have the pupil, every day or two, do something for no other 
reason than its difficulty. As an example of wild pedagogy, 
the extreme views of some of the most eminent writers on the 
subject as to the proper time for beginning the child's system- 
atic training are in point. Pestalozzi boasted that his son 
was eleven years old l)efore he could read or write ; and Rous- 
seau's Emile, at the age of twelve is not to know what a 
book is. No one, perhapT^, has better summed up what there 
is of the science of education than Dr. Harris in his Psychologic 



104 MISCELLANEA 

Foundations of Eclncatioii. To r<:'a(l this hook, ll()^vc'^'er. is 
Avork. not recreation. 

11 is for the teaehcM- quite as much as for any one, in his 
efforts to succeed, to he regardful of opportunities, that when 
they come he does not neglect them. He must ever l^eep in 
mind the fact that you ('an't go anywhere yesterday: the 
meaning of Avhicli is, if an opportunity came your way yester- 
day and you failed either to see it or to embrace it. the occasion 
is not lilvcly to return, i^alzac expresses the same thouglit in 
liis usual masterly way. He says. "No moment of one's life 
comes twice." An incident hearing upon the value of making 
use of opportunities is related of Admiral Farragut. When in 
command of our fleet on the lower Mississippi he had occasion 
to send a lieutenant in charge of a gunl)oat to capture a certain 
Confederate position, the successful carrying out of Avhich order 
Avould gain for the young officer no little prestige. From a 
lack of pluck and persistency on the lieutenant's part the 
enterprise failed. When the unsuccessful issue was reported to 
Farragut. he remarked: '"Fvcn-y man has one chance; he has 
had his and lost it."" In brief, for our succeeding we must turn 
to good account "the moment which ])resents itself but once." 

For success in any pursuit there is lu^eded a certain degree 
of courage, a truth which teachers, especially the inexperienced, 
have to learn. The troubles and obstacles that beset the path 
of the young pedagogue are at timers to his bewildered vision 
mountain-high, and he is too ready to despair of overcoming 
tliem. Weary of niind and body, he is too ready to accept 
defeat as inevitable. At such a time he should arouse the 
latent resources of his nature, become resolute, and be ready 
to take uj) arms against an a])])arent sea of troubles. It is 
well if lie be made aware that his is no unusual (Experience: 
that he is juc^rely fighting the l)attle of life Avhich all must 
engage ill. and that Avithoul such struggle with difficulties no 
strength of character would be developed. A young artist 
once complained to an old and ex|>erienced one that he met 
with what he supposed were unusual perplexities in nuuiaging 
his canvas and colors, to be told in reply that the older [)ainters. 
too. had like difficulties, some evim that were unyielding to 
their most ingenious exix'dienls. "Sometimes."" said lie. "our 



MISCELLANEA ] 05 

t-anvas is mysteriously affected with blotches, which we have 
not the art to remove, and which we are finally obliged to 
convert into birds." The teacher, among his trials, will find 
an occasional l)lotch which cannot even be turned into a bird. 
Tliere is no doubt that the ancient sage was right, who thought 
courage could be cultivated. This view is quite as rational 
as the assumption that the teaching faculty may by proper 
intlueuces be infused into an indifferent instructor. 

There is no possibility of success for a teacher M'ho lacks 
the spirit of willingness to work. Laziness, however accom- 
l)anied hy good qualities, vitiates the teacher's usefulness be- 
yond re})air. His example is a ])light upon the spirits of tlie 
other teachers, and of pupils especially, and seriously dis- 
turbs the general atmosphere of the school ; and what is 
worthy of notice is. these liad effects are harmful very nuich 
in proportion as the teacher's other qualities are unol).iection- 
able or even praiseworthy. Tlu^ influence of one habitually in- 
dolent person in a school faculty is furthermore pernicious, 
iiecause it arouses in the others feelings of disgust and con- 
teitipt at the injustice of carrying burdens that belong to 
another. Pupils also become deadened to (lut>' under such an 
instructor's indifference, ^lissing the interest and inspiratiou 
they have a right to expect, they liecome unprogressive and 
demoralized. 

Patience is a word for the teacher to conjure with. The 
lack of this one quality has spoiled many a teacher who pos- 
sesscnl every othei- personal element needed for success. It 
must constantly be borne in mind that some pupils are by 
HMliire slow, and need special allowance of time and much 
pains-taking attention on the part of the instructor, and that 
fitful, hasty dealing Avith minds so constituted renders nil all 
attempts to educate them. These nervous and inconsiderate 
persons, by their heartless methods, keep not only the dull 
l)n|)ils but file Avhole class in an unhappy temperamental chill. 
Confucius may have philosophized well for his day and social 
conditions, when he declared that if after presenting one cor- 
ner of a subject his pupil could not see the other three, he 
would refuse to teach him at all. Our theory of education is. 
that all. the weak and sluggish minds as well as the strong 



KM) MISOKLl-ANKA 

and a('li\i', arc Id lie .(iiiallv a care, on llic i^i'oiiiul ol' juslifc 
and cixir citinoinv and in llic reasona Idc cxpccliil ion llial somh- 
(d Ihi'sc last ninv m I In' end he lii-sl. It is, moreover, tlu> iiiit.> 
ol' the principal ol' a ,scli(»ol lo lu' palicnl willi llic inexperience 
aiul I'lullires of liis nssoeiah' leaelicrs, in the cxpeclalion Ihal 
linu' and I'casiuia Itle cm onrai^'cmenl niav wmU oul a Uderable 
issne willi all cxccpl Ihe nc!;iii^ilile lew who arc lui|)eicss inconi 
pelcnis AIniosI an\ Icaclicr can recall Willi wlial j^'ricvous 
inisslcps he liiiiiscir walked at liisl in liie pcdaji;oj;it'al path. 
Sncli earl\ lailnres seem, indeed, lo he almost an (>sseiilial 
pa rl of I he Icaclicr "s I ra iiiiiii;'. 

To lie classed Willi patience, indeed almost as a synon\iii 
ol' il, IS sell' conl rol. U'asli action and inlcniperate speech are 
to he li'uariled afjjainst as amoiii;" the teacher's weak j)oiiits. 
Sudden cmcii^encics, new and tryinti', are sure to present tluMii 
selves, and will demand immediate and dei'isi\e ai'lion. l'\'w 
teachers, y(Miiii^' or old, are always ahle lo meet sncli exii;encies. 
It IS onl.\ a Napoleon who in dilVuMilt it>s always knows what 
to Ai* next j'lxcn an experienced leaeln'r is sonietimes so 
tliistered hy an exaspcra t ini; ease of (iiscif^lini*. that he is 
ohli.u'eil lo exense liimseH' from L;i\iiiii' the matter inimedialc 
altcntitui, and tiiids it necessary lo walk alMuil the sclu>ol 
Itnildini;.' i'or ten ov tirteen miiintes to collect his ihoiii^hls, 
trnstini;- that 1»\ delay the rcrraeti>ry pnpil may ri-sumt^ a 
moi-c luM-iiial statt" o\' mind and t'eelinii' and that he hims(>ir 
may lia\e resi>l\ed npiMi a proper coui'se of action. ,\t'tcr one 
has had yiuirs o\' expt-riciicc in teachiiiii', siirprist>s o\' this sort 
c(Mne less rriMpuMilly. It is st>ldt>iii that such a one, in nianati- 
mil;' a iiard ease of diseiidine, tiiids himst'ir rellectinu' alter this 
manner: "1 llunii^ht I had u'oiit^ thiHMii^h the w lude raiiii'c oi' 
liisaijreeable seluH>lrt>oiii t>\p(>rieiiees, hut lii>r(> is soiiuMliintr 
new," To spt\ak parent luM ically for a luouuMit, a little personal 
history will show how straiii^ely the nnexpected soinet tines 
liapptMis to tile teacher. Ouo day. in my otliee, 1 was called on 
lli(> teleplioiie. and a woman's voice asktnl : "llow many pounds 
are there in a tirUin of hutter;'" .Vi'ter 1 had oblisjinj^ly i::iveii 
the dt>sirt>d inftM-niat i(Mi, slu> rurlluM- ask(Hl : "'Is a tub llu> sam(> 
as a tirkin '" This was [oo mncli for my equanimity. Onco 
an old lad\ called ;it iii\ lunise to complain o\' ill treatment at 



MISCEIJjANEA j()7 

the hands of lici' ^i-aiKlcliildi'cii. |)iii)ils in my schooJ. She was 
pai'ticiilarly grieved over the conduct of one of them, a rough 
hoy, Avho made it a praetic(^ to throw water on her. She asked 
if 1 wouhln't have this hoy [)unished, but charged me not to 
let him know what it was for, as otlierwise he would treat her 
Avorse than h(>forc. 

It is ii wise and true s<i\'ing of a great novelist, that the 
most dangei-ous of all edut-ation is bad example;. What the 
teacher says has very little effect except for harm if liis actions 
are not consistent with his words. We arc to Ix- reminded 
furthermore that it is not enough to be honest, we iinist appear 
so. A little deviation of the teacher from sli'ict honesty is 
sometimes as bad as the most oh\-ious (l('|)ar1iirc IVoiii it. It is 
the little things that count. Trifles, we are told, make [X'r- 
fection, but perfection is no 1 rifle. So ti-ifies may cause dis- 
aster, though disaster be no IriHing matter. Scott sonu^where 
tells of a soldier who wished to follow a leach-r who kept his 
honor as bright as his shield. Pupils like t(» be taught and 
guided by those who are conspicuous for their integi'ity. By 
relating a ])ersonal incident ! can hcsl show how easy it is for 
a teacher. 1 bought lessl_\- and without a suspicion of doing any- 
thing wrong, to step over the (hOicate and almost ind(!tinable 
ethical line which divides right from wrong, a transgression 
readily detected by the pupil of delicately trairuMl conscience. 
The example in mind relates to a boy who was to have a so- 
called oration at the graduating exercises of the school. When 
he had completed the writing of it, he brought his work to me 
foi- review and criticism. After inserting or erasing a few 
marks of })unctuation ami correcting some missjx'lled words, 
I took the liberty, innocently as I thought, of changing 
slightly the structure of the last sentence, and then returned 
the composition to he r(>-A\ rit I en. When it was again hi'ought 
to me to he rehearsed. I discovered that the final sentence 
^\'as just as it had been originally -written. What this boy 
did. slight as it appeared, was to me of great significance. It 
was perhai)s the most fruitful lesson in pedagogical ethics T 
have ever lear'ucd. !t taught me as nothing else could do that 
a teacher, one who is set up as an example for the young to 
emulate, cannot be too cai-eful in sci'ut ini/.ing his most trivial 



108 MISCKM-ANEA 

aels. As au instance of the extreme eonseientiousiiess of the 
teacher, it is related of Stonewall Jaekson. the famous Con- 
federate general, that when a professor of mathematics in a 
military school, he one day told a student that his work on 
the blackboard was ineori'eet. In the cNening, recurring to the 
blackboard incident, he became t'onviiiccd that !he boy had 
been right and he liimself wrong, and in conscMiuence of the 
discovery he immediately set out, in spite of a severe rain, to 
\isit llic l)()y"s home, a mile away, and correct liis mistake. 

The relation that exists between teacher and pupil has 
Ix'cii described as that (existing between the parent and the 
(liild. The parallel is. however, lacking in (uie important essen- 
tial. Ill the former relation there is wanting the bond of near 
kinship. I lie strongest tie known to human sympatliy. Some 
writei's upon education have gone so far as to say th.at men 
have seldom h)\'e(l theii- teachers. It is this filial love, so 
natural and strong in the one instance, so Avantiug in the other, 
that minimizes the teachei-'s claim to the relation Mhieh is 
known as in loco parnilis. There is a word potent and impres- 
si\ (■ as affecting the lea<'her's intercourse with those he has in 
charge, a watchword, in fact, for every teacher. This word 
is companionship. Those teacluu's succeed best who make com- 
j)anions of their pupils. It was said of a noted English teacher 
iiaiiied -lordeii. that when a, young man Ix'came -lorden's pupil 
he became his son. Althougli it is impossible that a close 
])ei'sonal association should be uiaint<iined with all oue"s pupils, 
there are innumerable little ways tluil may be effectixe in 
reaching the hearts of the young and in holding their alle- 
giance. In s(tnie of the higher institutions of learning an at- 
lemi)t is making at the present time to bi-idge over the chasm 
that has in the past yawned almost prohil)iti\ely b(>tA\-een in- 
structor and insti'ucted. This attempt is called tutorial, or 
preceptorial, teaching, wherein the tutor from tin.e to time 
nu'cts his students in grou])s of half a dozen, where an ojipor- 
tunity is given for close fannliar intercourse, with free dis- 
cussion and exchange of views. This opportunity on the })art 
of the student for (piestioriing oi-. as it is called, "shooting 
back,'' tends to awaken lh(> mind and give it both ideas and 
a chance to express them, a ])ractice ((uite in harmony with a 



MFSCELLANKA 109 

most snggostive sentiment. " 'Tis Dioiiglirs cxcliHiige wliidi. 
like the alternate push of waves conflicting, breaks the learned 
scum and defecates the student's standing pool." In such 
circumstances the i)i-eceptor's personality tells; he comes to 
knoAv his students, and they come to feel the intluence of a 
closer contact with their instructor. If more of this kind of 
teaching were done, more men would love their teachers. It 
is a saying of Seneca, that "many a man has been lost for 
Avant of l)eing touched to the quick." Just so, many a student 
has been only half what he was capal)ie of Vx-coming for lack 
of this magic personal intercourse with an instructor. 

In the management of a school nuich d(^pejids ui)()n the 
teacher's care in Avatcliing for dangerous tendencies, and in 
counteracting thcui at the incipient stage. Tliis suggestion 
is based upon an old adage, that '"it is easier to keep the devil 
out than to turn him out." This killing of an evil in the shell 
is one of the teacher's most A'aluable schemes of discipline. 
Again, and (juite in point of what avc are aiming at. there are 
certain sup])lementai\v agencic^s that should l)e called in as 
valuable aids in conducting a school. One of the chief con- 
cerns of a Avell governed school is punctual attendance. Fre- 
quent absence and tardiness ai"e uiniiistaka})le signs tliat there 
is sometliing wrong. Laxncss in cai'ing foi" these pai'ticulars 
will always result in gi\'ing the school had r<'piite. a reputation 
that no school can stand, whatcvei- it may claim of excellence 
ill other I'cspects. For village and country schools, and for 
elementary city schools, a rem(Hly for the evils referi'cd to, a 
remedy Avhich actual tests have shoAvn to be reasonably effec- 
tive, may be pertinently suggested. The one here offered as 
of great effectiveness, and Avhich intlruMices not only punctu- 
ality but scholai'shi)) as avcII. is simple, and, in brief, is this: 
A Aveekly roll of honor including the names of all pupils who 
have a perfect rccoi-d foi* attendanc(^ and punctuality during 
the week, Avith names arranged in order of the pu])ils' standing 
in scholarshi]!. is ])oste(] in a conspicuous place in the school 
Avhere it publishes the merits of those Avho are in these tAvo 
respects most deserving. As a supplement to this, a card con- 
taining a certification of merit is given Aveekly to each member 
of th(^ honor roll. This scheme may properly be called an aid 



110 MISCELLANEA 

iu promoting regular atteudauce aud good scholarship. It is 
not claimed to be perfect in effecting the results aimed at, 
but its influence reaches aud leavens essentially the whole 
school. Unfortunately this plan is not available in city high 
schools, where many pupils come long distances and are unable 
to walk, and despite their best intentions are subject to delays 
incident to street car service. This is one of the sorest per- 
plexities the city high school teacher has to deal with. His 
failure to meet the evils of tardiness by any conceivable device 
is a constant cause of humiliation. To the minds of some the 
suggestions here made for the encouragement of punctuality 
and scholarship will no doubt seem old and commonplace and 
too trite for serious recital. To the minds of others, who may 
have tried and proved their value, or the value of something 
similar, it will be clear that they cannot be repeated too often. 
It is now. as it has always been, quite the fashion in affairs of 
education to despise Avhat is old and accept Avith eagerness 
what is new. No matter how unreasonable the whims are that 
gain temporary ascendanc}', the}' bear sway for the moment 
with irresistible force. All who oppose them or give them only 
a lukewarm assent are arraigned as "old fogies" and as being 
"Ijehind the times." During a single lifetime one maj" follow 
the course of so-called reforms, to see the old ideas return ex- 
ploited as something new. Such a recurrence of old methods 
is open to the observation of anyone who will take the trouble 
to look for it. The dictum that has been applied to our modern 
civilization, that "we are not progressing but merely tossing," 
is, if not to be accepted as true, yet, as applied to eciucation, 
highly suggestive. It may be urged in justification of many 
educational movements, tliat they at least prevent stagnation. 
It is well if teachers are made to understand that because a 
thing is old it need not be bad, and that a thing which is new 
need not in consequence of its newness l)e good. What has 
been presented in the way of promoting the regular attendance 
of pupils is very old ; Avhat is to the point, however, is. that 
it has l)ce]i tried and not found wanting. To some it doubtless 
seems too small a matter to be treated in so serious a manner. 
To such it may again be said, that after all it is the little things 
that arc^ important. It is somewhere set down as worth remem- 



MISCELLANEA 111 

bering. tliMt '"those only become great who think nothing little 
Init themselves;" that "sands make the mountain, moments 
make the year; and that, — 

"Of little threads our life is spun. 
And he spins ill Avho misses one." 

Any discussion of the conditions under which the teacher 
may work most satisfactorily would be lacking, if it were to 
omit the question of physical health. A familiar saying, that 
•'the first wealth is health," is an epigrammatic truth bearing 
directly upon both teacher and taught. Even intellectual 
attainment, when compared with health, is of secondary im- 
portance. It is foolish, some one remarks, to sink our vessel 
by overloading it even with gold. Another instructive figure 
is that of Hercules set to row in a rotten boat. — the more 
powerful his stroke, the more certain he is of shattering his 
craft and sending it to the Ijottom. Teaching that is teaching 
is exhausting work, whereof each day's honest labor leaves 
both body and mind greatly fatigued and. needing the repair 
of a reasonable amount of recreation, refreshment, and rest. 
That one be a good animal, in general a necessary aim for 
complete living, demands that the teachei- preeminently have 
these restoratives with severe regularity. The teacher should 
not be ashamed to got sleep and on a liberal scale. Many of 
the world's greatest men have l)een good sleepers. Scott and 
Newton are notable examples. ]Much dissipation, however in- 
nocent, renders the teacher unfit for the peculiar demands of 
the schoolroom. How often, when things are going wrong w'ith 
the school, if the teacher Avere to sub.ject himself to a little 
introspection, w^ould he find the cause of disorder in his own 
moodiness and irritability, conditions due to a lack of rest. 

Other things being equal, the well equipped teacher is one 
who is distinguished as being well-read, that is. one whose mind 
is stored with the contents of good books. The habit of read- 
ing, when once well formed, becomes a pleasui'able diversion, 
and. if not indulged in to excess, is a true relaxation. There 
need be but little mental strain in yielding to the allurements 
of general literature. It is in no sense labor, such as, for in- 
stance, writing, or composition, is. It may be remarked, in 



112 .MlSCKl, LANKA 

piissiiii;'. that il is uni'ortuiialc llial pi'aclicc in roiu[»t)sit ion is 
not an exercise more a\ailal)le for llie leaelier's sel I'-iinprove- 
ment. Tlie '^ H "s. icailini;'. Avritiu^'. aiut arit liniel ie. wliieh 
oriiiinally ineaiil llu' luei-est sniatleriiiii' of tliose suhjeels. just 
eiiouiili ill the tirst instaiiee to enable one to spell out simple 
■words, in the seeoucL skill ent)Ui;?li l)arely to form K Iters ami 
laboriously traee oiu-'s name Avith pen or pencil, ami in the 
last menti()ne(l. only enouiih to use figures in a primitive way 
for counting and reckouiug. — these :> 1\ "s have, in fact, im- 
nuMise i>ossil)ilit ies for mental training w hen logically extended. 
Especiall.N is this true of i-eading and writing. These subjci-ts 
pursued to their possible limits may ri'sult in culture of a high 
order. "Reading." says Lord liacou. "uuikcs a full man. Avrit- 
ing. an exact one." Professor John Fiske. a man of excep- 
tional all-around intellectual attainments, declares that he got 
all his knoMvledgi> of science through the medium of books, not 
the best Ava\' to obtain such kno^vledge. be it said, but at least 
a possible \\a\. .\braham Lincoln, by nnu-h practice in \vril- 
ing. reaeiu'd a degree of exeellenee in (•(uui)osit ion such as 
few ha\-e attainetl to. His speeches and letters are surprising 
masterpieces, not only in thought but in st\li'. Despite the 
fact that composition-Avriting is a trying emploNineiit for the 
iiund ami cannot be done profitably when one's faculties are 
exhausted, every teacher must do si>nu>thing in the way of 
literary composition, at least to the limittni extent o\' letter- 
writing, and with due nxw always lo write that small amount 
in the best possible manner, lie u\-a\ at length ac(|uire the ability 
to write Avell. 

As has been already remarked, the art of composition is 
ditfieult and i-epellenl. 'Phi' historian Preseott. somewhere in 
his Avorks. declares, what no one Avill question, thai i'vw love 
to write. As another puts il. e\ery one who affects author- 
ship must overcome a natural distaste for the pkxhMng laboi' 
of writing. According to "Macaulay. eveu the gocnl writers 
cannot ahvays Avrite their best. Again Rousseau : "With what- 
ever talent a man may be born, the art of writing in not easily 
learned." Nowhere in the domain of self-culture is one more 
likely to exelaim. "If it were not so hard to think." It is this 
thinking under the lash that nmkes the art of writing so diflft- 



MISCELLANKA 11 '3 

fult tf) li^firn. liosjdes, the cultivation of mere expression, that 
which relates to form and happy diction, calls for no common 
effort and patience. Few readers are aware, as they enjoy 
the delights of an exquisite piece of literary composition, how 
much ear(! in polishing and "bringing to the anvil again" has 
been bestowed ufjon the arrangement and shaping of "thought, 
to say nothing about invention. It is to be noted, then, that 
literary creation, though by far the more difificult part of (com- 
position, is by no means the whole of it. It will he remembered 
that Browning says quite within bounds, "Polishcjr needs prec- 
ious stone no less than precious stone needs polisher." It is 
the sensible opinion of some one, that the art of writing con- 
sists in knowing what to leave in tlu; inkstand. 

11 is interesting to observe how untiring some of the best 
writers have been in revising their mastcn-pieces. Pascal said 
of his eighteenth letter, "I would have made it short ei- if 1 
could have kept it longer." Addison was so S(;nsi1ive ju 
relation to the; perfecting of his work, that he would stop 
the press to alter a preposition or ;i eotijiinetion. Halzac 
wrote and |)ul)lished forty volumes befoi-e he could write one 
to which lie \\i\s willing 1o put his tmme. He (.nee sy)ent a 
whole night o\ei- H .single senlenee. jiiid w MS k'now M 1o riddle \\itli 
erasures his lenlh [)rf)oi'. Hacine was Iwo whole years polish- 
ing his Pli6(lre. The opening passage of Plato's Re])ublic was 
found wr-ilten on1 in thirteen difif'ereni \\a\s. Uaeon's .\o\um 
Organutn was re-written twelve times ovei'. i*lu1areh kept 
his works constatitly by him, and polished them to Y)erf<'ction. 
La Rochefoucauld re-wi'ote some of his maxims thirtx' limes. 
Bishop Percy assures us that not a line in all his ])oems staufls- 
as he tirst wrote it. Preseott, after finishing a manuscript, 
was M-orit to keep it a year, and then I'cvise it before putting 
it into the printer's hands. There are a few marked examples 
of men who liavc found wi'iling easy. Dr. .Johnson could 
write anywhere, at any time, and he never revised what he 
had once written. Scott was accustomed to change his manu- 
scripts but little. As distinguished from the great nmjority, 
who have fo)uid literary composition hard work, Locke is 
an example of one who ^^•I•o1e for the love of it. He found 
great personal satisfaction, while at Oxford, in the mere prac- 



114 miscellanp:.\ 

tiee of composition, though he had. like others, to exercise 
patience in licking his offspring into shape. Jonathan Ed- 
wards, as a student, formed the habit of writing as a means 
of mental discipline. Writers show strange peculiarities in 
their manner of working. All agree that one is unwise if 
he neglects to shoot a good thought on the wing. In the 
night, when an ich'a seized him. Richelieu would rise and call 
a night secretary, who wrote it down instantly. This was also 
a custom with Pope as well as with some others. It is Haydon's 
advice, never to rub out in the evening of the day you have 
worked hard, if your labor sliould appear a failure ; since 
what looks worthless at night when one is exhausted, may 
show merit when reviewed after a night's sleep. Some writers, 
for successful thinking, are dependent upon conditions and 
moods. Lowell said his recipe was to carry a thing long in 
his mind. Young found night the best time for composing 
his Night Thoughts. Hawthorne liked Avriting in a small 
room. Montaigne's best thoughts came when he seemed to 
seek them least. Ennius never wrote poetry except when 
confined to the house with gout. Goethe said all his best 
thoughts came to him while walking. He could do nothing 
when seated. Lafcadio Hearu declared that all our best work 
is out of the unconscious. While some poets are hampered 
by too much learning, others, though possessed of great natural 
gifts, show an appreciable lack of learning. Of the latter 
class is our Whittier, so eminently endowed with "the swing 
of the true lyric bard." Of this class also is Burns, a con- 
spicuously inspired man, whose productions have been com- 
pared to "the songs of linnets in the lapses of the wind." 
It is impossible to tell how a larger culture would have affected 
his peculiar genius. It has been thought that Shakspeare, 
whom Furness calls "a very learned man, but no scholar." 
might have suffered an impairment of his incomparable gifts, 
if he had been able to read Sophocles in the original. Even 
some writers distinguished for learning and scholarship have 
expressed a desire for a greater amount of both. Thackeray 
regretted that he had not alloAved himself five years of reading 
before beginning to write. 

In giving a brief enumeration of other agencies and prac- 



MISCELLANEA 115 

tiees to wliieli a teacher may wisely direct Ins thoughts, the 
folloAviug points are suggested as likely to be helpful on the 
I'oad to success: (1) Daily preparation by study for every 
lesson to be taught; (2) Improvement to be gained from asso- 
ciatiou with other teachers; (3) Visiting other schools; (4) 
Cultivating social relations with the people and showing an 
interest in public affairs; (5) Attention to the best profes- 
sional literature; (6) Conferences with parents; (7) Avoid- 
ance of too much talking, or preaching, to the school. If 
time permitted, these seven points might well bear extended 
discussion. 

It seems proper to add a note of warning, to the effect 
that there can be for the teacher no such thing as perfect 
success; that those who come nearest such a consummation 
are the readiest to confess how much they fall short of their 
ideals. Butler's Hudibras contains a sentence strongly impres- 
sive as bearing upon the limitations of success. "Success." 
he says, "the mark no mortal wit nor surest hand can always 
hit.'' To look at the question from one point of view, every 
institution or system, whether religious, political, or educa- 
tional, must, to a great extent, be judged by the cliaracter 
of the men and women it produces. In the same way the 
teacher is to be judged, even though his responsibility is at 
most a divided one, wherein other and often adverse agencies 
unite and may neutralize the good he might otherwise do. 
As examples in point, it was to the dishonor of Socrates 
that his pupils, Alcibiades and Critias. turned out bad men. 
So Seneca Avas discredited by his pupil, the fiendish Nero. 
It is greatly comforting, in reading the lives of famous teach- 
ers, to find that they were not exempt from the hard usages 
of the common lot. As an antidote to despair, one might 
profitably read Dean Stanley's Life of Dr. Arnold, the great 
master of Rugby, whereby he would better understand the 
universal truth, that "they that stand high have many blasts 
to shake theuj." After considering these discouraging in- 
stances, it will be a relief to look at the reverse of the picture, 
and seek comfort in the fact that it is not unusual for men 
and women to bear testimony to deep indebtedness to their 
teachers for l)oth intellectual and moral stinmlus. 



1 ] 6 MISCELLANEA 

'I'iiiii'. place, aiul (,'ir('uinstaiu'(> are coiisidcrablt' factors o1' 
siiccoss. Owing to unfavorable conditions a teacher may be 
doomed to failure in one place, and yet the same teacher by 
chang'ing his environment, may subsequently achieve distin- 
guished success. The world is wide and oft'ers almost infinite 
opportunities. He is unAvise who. in disregard of tliis fact, 
continues a hopeless tiglit in a position where all the odds 
are against him. 



M 



RESPONSE. 

'1\. PROVOST: Once alreaily on a former occasion the 
Association of colleges and secondary schools of the 
Middle states and Maryland has tested the welcome 
of Philadelphia teachers, and has enjoyed the hospitality of 
the University of Pennsylvania. It is my pleasant duty on 
this second like occasion, in behalf of tlie association, to re- 
ceive and acknowledge your kindly greetings. This duty is 
all the more agreeal)le to mo from Ihe fact that for several 
years I was a resident in Philadel]>liia and came to know the 
cordiality and generous spirit tluit are so characteristic of the 
City of Krothei'ly Love. It is the boast and pride of tliis associ- 
ation that it always attends to serious business — that it has 
no time for side-shows, byplays, or excursions. It is it) be 
regretted. howcAcr. that here, in this most I'ichly historic centre 
of the western liemis})liere. we are not able to take a I'ecess of 
a few hours to pay our respects to places hallowed by patriotic 
devotion, and to Aisit youi- various seats of learning and othei- 
institutions celebrated world-wide for art. science, industry and 
philanthropy. In Greater New York, on University- Heights 
which overlooks the Harlem ami the Hudson, an enterpi-ising 
and patriotic Avoman has built a hall of fame, on whose walls 
are to be inscribcnl the names of eminent Ameri<'ans. Here, 
in this city, you tunc a hall of fame that ni'eds no mnral in- 
scriptions to give it distinction, consecrated as it is by a new 
birth of li})erty and liy the acts and ideas of statesmen who 
inaugurated a new era in the governuKmt of mankind. We 
come her(> to-dav. sir. on vour kind invitation, and trust that 



MFSCELIjANEA 117 

we ai'c not like unbidden guests, said to be most weleoiue wheu 
Ibey are gone; and we feel confident that here, at least, we 
shall realize that the welcome of the liost is by far the l)est 
part of the entertainment. 



JOV AND RKST. 



DE( KMB1^]1\. by natui-e the darkest, is also to the iiumau 
s|)ii'i1 the h'ast cheery month of the year. The autum- 
nal (lays ha\-e been gi-owing shortei- and shorter, drear- 
ier and drearier, until in the latter half of this month the 
climax of gloom is reached. The Scripture declaration that 
■iiicn love darkness rather than light" is purely figurative, 
in all literalness the revei'se of the saying is true, men lov(; 
light rather than darkness. In an appai'ent regartl for the 
rule of compensation it has, however, bcconu' the endeavor 
of nearly all civilized peoples to i-elieve the heaviness and 
gloom of the period of longest nights by making it a holiday 
season, and committing it to joy. The decree has, accordingly, 
been issued, and with hearty unanimity, that the naturally 
somberest week of the year shall be to the spirits of men 
the brightest. And. strange to say. the edict is implicitly 
obeyed, and in a manner the nations legislate sunshine into 
the hearts of the people. More unalloyed joy and happiness 
are known to these so-called holidays than to any other e(|ual 
amount of time in the whole annual round. 

It is surprising, and somewhat at variance with the prob- 
abilities of human happiness, that the tension of enjoyment 
can be sustained uninterruptecily so long. As long uninter- 
rupted unhappiness is rare, so undisturbed delight sehknn 
lasts many days. According to the philosophy of Jean Inge- 
low. "No man can be ahvays sad." If we were haj)py all 
the time, we might not, aiid probably should not, know that 
we were happy at all. The conditions of felicity demand 
contrast, both light and shadow. "Enough of sunshine to 
enjoy the shade" is the prevailing rule. We have it from 
Shakspeare that ''the web of our life is a mingled yarn, good 
and ill together." One does not need a long experi(Mice in 



118 MISCELLANEV 

this Avoi-Ul to know that the pleasures of life are mostly inci- 
dental, and that the highest joy has a background of sorrow. 

The joy and good cheer of the holiday season would be 
impossil)h' but for the reflections that pass reciprocally be- 
tween connningling faces. The sunshine of the heart is onlj' 
partly inl)orn : the joy-flushed world around us adds its light 
to ours. Still what is seen of happiness in others will appear 
to us nuich greater, if by our own acts and moods we have 
in some way contributed to it. There is sometliing reassuring 
in the thought that one's genial influence is extended by an 
indeflnitely repeated communication, that, as some one claims, 
man may be like the lodestone. \\hich not only attracts the 
iron, but also infuses into it the power to attract other objects. 
In this manner our smiles, like a torch, may light up a coun- 
tenance which shall transmit the benign influence almost with- 
out limit. Thus one charitable act may reach many hearts. 
There is in the world too much pseudo-charity, such as the 
wit of Sydney Smith is aimed at. His charity sermon is 
familiarly known, beginning in this manner: "Charity is a 
sentiment which universally pervades the human Itri^ast : no 
sooner does A find B in distress, tlian he innnediately asks 
C to relieve him." But a kind word or look even, as well 
as a kind deed, may be the sweetest and truest charity. 

Christmas-tide not only means joy, it means rest as well. 
The economy of nature demands for the human animal a 
definite amount of relaxation from l)oth physical and mental 
toil. Those who ignore this demand in time find their mistake. 
Aristotle begrudged the time taken from mental lalior for 
sleep, and devised a plan for protecting himself against sleep- 
ing too long. Upon lying down to rest, he clasped an iron 
ball in his hand and held it over a brazen vessel, that when sleep 
became too deep and the muscles of his hand became relaxed, 
the ball falling upon the brass might make a noise and wake 
him. 

At the holiday season rest is most grateful to the mind- 
wearied school boy and school girl. They then give tlieir 
lessons up to complete oblivion, and themselves to the abandon 
of uninterrupted joy. At the end of a long term of study 
their feelings fire iiuu-h like those of the little fellow in his 



MISCELLANEA 119 

first experience at school. After a week's trial a kind neigh- 
bor, meeting him, asked, "Well, my little man, how do you 
like school f" "0," replied the diminutive scholar, "I'm 
gettin' awful tired o' them A's and things." 

Rest is not necessarily idleness. When properly indulged 
in it is the wisest thrift. Some one has pronounced idleness 
the greatest prodigality in the world, and Seneca says an 
honest man is out of his place when he is idle. To match 
this we have the assurance that "all work and no play makes 
Jack a dull boy." 



(^OOPERSTOWN CPLXTENNIAL. 

THE village of Coop(^rstown, which is just now celebrat- 
ing the on(^ hundredth anniversary of its incorporation, 
may properly be treated of under three aspects, — first, 
as it is favored by nature; second, as it is consecrat(^d by 
legend and literary genius: and third, as it is a community 
of liomcs. It is no small advantage for a people to live amid 
scenes of great natural beauty, where hill, river, and lake 
coml^ine harmoniously and in such manner as to satisfy and 
delight tlie heart and imagination. Tlie natural charm pos- 
sessed by this place may be at the first view less striking 
than that produced by the sublimer scenery where mountains 
play a conspicuous part : yet the very modesty of its unique 
perfections appeals with peculiar force to a fastidious taste. 
It is hazardous to express oneself about things that beggar 
description. It is too nuieh like trying to gild refined gold 
or paint the lily. To call Otsego Lake beautiful would be 
as much a pleonasm as it would be to call a Frenchman witty. 
The immediate fascination which the lake has for those who 
see it for the first time and in one of its best moods, was 
once well indicated by a discriminating stranger who, in the 
dusk of evening, saw it from Lakewood Cemetery. After 
standing for a few minutes in silent admiration, he said : 
■"Well, if thev ever l)ury me here, I shall want them to take 
the coppers off my (\ves." If it were ever possible to worship 
nature, it would seem that siu*h adoration could ])e indulged 



12U MISCELLANEA 

in luM'c. Here, if aiiy-whcrc. Ihc lines of Eli/al)etli Bfirrett 
Urowniiig' would filly a]){)ly : — 

Kai'th's craiiniied with heaven, and every common bush 
Afire with God, but only he who sees 
Takes off his shoes. 

Natural seeiiery is said to have appealed to Walter Scott 
only so far as it had local legend associated with it, though 
he often depicted nature with care and in a happy manner. 
Cooper, on the contrary, if his descriptive wi'itings are taken 
as evidence, loved nature for its own sake. The former, it 
may be claiiued. had as a natural setting for the creations 
of his fancy nothing of superior charm to what Cooper found 
here in the wilds of America. The Scottish Lakes, Loch 
Katrine and Loch Lomond, as the work of God's hand, have 
a picturesque beauty in no way surpassing that of Lake Otsego, 
it might seem, however, that the "dramatis personae" of 
Scott's writings, half historic and half his own creations, the 
historic ones including even royalty, would give the Scotch 
romancer a distinct advantage, — that ]\lary Queen of Scots. 
Fitz James, Roderick Dim, and Pollen Douglas would quite put 
out of competition the simple frontier folk and untutored 
savages of the New World. But whatever advantage, if any, 
the Briton had over the American, Avas not due to the social 
rank of his characters. That Cooper was successful in peopl- 
ing the wilderness with persons so humble, and yet characters 
concededly proof against oblivion, is greatly to his credit, — 

"And Natty won't go to oblivion quicker 
Than Adams the parson or Primrose the vicar." 

A\'hil(' ( 'ooperstown considered as a home has no special 
claim to be chronicled beyond what could be urged for other 
communities, still this home phase of the subject, wherein 
every-day citizenship, with its humdrum activities and its 
neighborly loves and strifes, has for a hundred years been 
working out the problems common to all civic life, should 
not be lost sight of in connection with a centennial event. 
The long continuous association of the same people, their 
personal friendships and family intimacies, are factors worthy 



MISCELLANEA 121 

of note. The genius of Cooper should not absorb the interest 
of the occasion to the exclusion of everything else. If we 
were memorializing the one hundredth anniversary of Cooper's 
birth, the ease would indeed be different. There are many 
minor characters that have figured significantly in the scenes 
of our village, lesser lights when compared with Cooper, who 
have lived their day and left their impress upon things human. 
From among them the living may select each his own as 
predilection dictates. Every one has a few choice souls who 
have "crossed the bar and gone out to sea." who, besides 
having possessed native qualities that ennoble human nature, 
have a precious meaning to him personally. Let such a one, 
.searching among the "hie jacets" of the dead, 

" — from the inscription wipe the weeds and moss. 
For everv heart best knoweth its own loss." 



THE MAINE SOCIETY OF NEW YORK. 

IT was a custom with the ancient Greeks, when a colony 
went out to establish itself on some distant shore, to carry 
sacred fire from the home altar and with it to kindle the 
altar in the new settlement. In a like spirit w^e Maine folk 
brought from our old homes, not actual fire in our hands, 
]>ut sacred memories in our hearts. These memories we keep 
alive in part by such functions as this. From time to time, 
moreover, either in fact or in imagination, we go back to the 
scenes of our youth and revive these memories. Perchance 
we find ourselves walking on the familiar ocean beach and 
listening to the murmur of the sea ; or, it may be. we launch 
a boat on some inland lake or river, waters with which we 
once held dear companionship ; or we once more pole a rude 
raft among the lilies and gatlier handfuls of long-stemmed 
beauties ; or we visit the spring at the foot of the hill, where 
ou Avarin summer days we used to drink out of a tiny cup, 
hastily made from a green leaf; or we enter the old school- 
house odorific of stuffy air, and view the knife-carved desks 
wliicli in appearance resemble the surface of an Egyptian 
monolith — desks over which we once dozed, and where dreams 



1 22 MISCELLANEA 

of fame "like exhalations rose and fell." We fondly repeat 
a hundred remembered experiences, until we feel like saying 
what Thaekeray in reminiscence wrote of his boyhood days, 
"As I recall them the roses bloom again and the nightingale 
sings by the calm Bendemeer. " 



MEMORIAL DAY ADDRESS. 

COMRADES and fellow-citizens: For more than a century 
it has been our wont to celebrate by an annual holiday 
the birth of this Nation. But we are in a measure 
realizing anew what was said concerning the greatest republic 
of antiquity, that the days in which we are born are less 
memorable than those in which we are preserved; and the 
thirtieth of May has become with us a great national holiday. 
This is but rational ; nor ought it to cause regret to the true 
lover of his country. The highest tribute we can pay to the 
heroes of the Revolution is in honoring those who have been 
equally self-sacrificing in perpetuating the blessings of their 
achievements. Nor is the significance of this day essentially 
incomplete because at present the whole country is unable 
to observe it in the same spirit. It is but natural that the 
people of the South should cherish their brave dead with a 
peculiar tenderness. For them to do otherwise would be to 
renounce their humanity. Time is, however, doing, as naught 
else can do, the good work of healing the wounds made by 
secession ; and it is not too much to believe that our brethren 
of the South are beginning to rejoice that this is still one 
people. Both sections will in time come to look upon the 
war as a necessary conflict caused by slavery ; and all alike 
will regard the saving of the Union as a priceless blessing. 
Another view that may be taken of the war is, that sooner 
or later, on some issue or other, it was inevitable that the 
solidity of our national compact would be tested by civil 
strife. The proportions of the rebellion were so gigantic, 
that nothing greater in the way of sectional revolt is to be 
feared in the future. That crucial test of our nationality 
was the most decisive possible. 



MI8CEI.LANEA 123 

A picture in Dante's Purgatory represents a part}' halting 
in their toilsome mountain ascent, and in restful attitude 
turning their faces to the distant valley from which they 
had set out. In the most casual manner the poet lets fall 
this sentence: "All men are delighted to look back." Com- 
rades, here to-day, in the tiresome mountain ascent of life, 
you are halting to breathe for a little time, and to enjoy a 
retrospect of the journey you have thus far come ; and espe- 
cially to revievi' the part you had in the war for the Union. 
Some things pertaining to every life are worth remembering. 
Nothing in yours is so worthy of jealous l^eeping as the yi^ars 
you loyally spent on the tented tield. 

It is something to remember having lived through those 
glorious days of our history, and to have witnessed the grand- 
est exhibitions of man's self-renunciation. You will recall 
the first excited heart-throbbings that came with the opening 
scenes of the war ; and the shock that for a moment, and 
for a moment only, paralyzed a peaceful people. How many 
incidents of that time are now remembered with amazing 
vividness ! Let me briefly recall some of these. 

One of the most vividly remembered concerning the open- 
ing of the war was the difficulty men found in adapting 
themselves to the practices and requirements of military dis- 
cipline. How freshly comes to mind the awkwardness of a 
middle-aged man who had no music in his soul and who could 
not accommodate his step to that of his marching companions. 
Whether he watched the feet of his comrades or the motions 
of the drummer, he uniformly and with fatal precision step- 
ped just a little later than the rest. His appearance was as 
comical as that of the militia-man of an earlier period, whose 
step at general muster was irregular owing to the excessive 
use of stimulants. When jeered at for being boozy he replied : 
*'No, that isn't it; the trouble is, there's a band in front of 
our company and one behind it; they are playing different 
tunes and I'm trying to keep step with both of them." 
Though this awkward Union soldier to whom allusion has 
been made, at first lacked the rhythmic movements of his 
fellows, his patriotic sympathies were fully attuned to the 
necessities of the hour, and in a long and faithful service 



J 24 MISCErj.AiNTEA 

]iis faculties learned to execute wluitcxcr duty called hiiu lo 
perform. 

Ludicrous things were told of tlie bonihastic military airs 
of a returned three-months man. After the tirst Bull Run 
battle he had retreated as far north as the Green Mountains. 
His large stories were the amazement of the inhabitants. He 
capped the climax, however, when, upon visiting some relatives, 
he told them he had become so accustomed to camp life that 
he couldn't sleep in a bed, and insisted upon camping in the 
orchard wrapped in a blanket. 

There is something pathetic in recalling th(^ honest cold- 
ness of some noi'thern men regarding the war. They were 
men of great personal honor and integrity, but they could 
not be brought to scm^ the necessity of saving the Union at 
all hazards. One of our most distinguished men of letters 
declared that he was incapable of taking in more than the 
northern half of this great country ; and to him the dissolu- 
tion of the Union Avas almost a matter of indifference. But 
in marked contrast with these were suCh Southerners as Farra- 
unt and Thomas, whose genius and national spirit were of 
so nuich value that th(^ country could hardly have been saved 
M'ithout theni. No doubt the South counted nuich upon the 
indiiference in the North, and were further encouraged in 
their withdrawal by the belief that some of the northern states 
cared mort^ for autonomy than for nationality. 

It peculiarly becomes the spirit of this day to recount 
some of the deeds of heroism performed by those to whose 
memory the day is sacred. It is said that the success of great 
men is a mystery to themselves. Just so exploits of daring 
are as little intelligible to their authors. A hero of olden 
times being asked which of certain men, himself among the 
number, he held in highest esteem, replied: ''You must first 
see us die before that question can be resolved." Those who 
have been tried by danger, suffering, and death, are the ones 
whose spirits can best be judged. The war on several occa- 
sions verified the oft-made assertion, that councils of war never 
fight. On one such Gen. Hancock showed himself truly heroic. 
After the first day's fight at Gettysburg, at a meeting of the 
Union generals, the most of them, imbuec'. with a belief that 



MISCELLANEA 125 

Lee was something super-human, were in favor of retreating ; 
but Hancock said, " No ; the Army of the Potomac has re- 
treated too often." The volunteer crew of the Monitor were 
heroic, who patriotically linked their fate with that of the 
brave Worden. The fire kept up by the plucky crew of the 
sinking Cumberland would be deserving of exceptional praise, 
were it not for the deeds of gallantry in the later experience 
of the navy. A writer on the war says, "There is nothing 
finer in history than Thomas at Chickamauga" — Thomas, a 
man so modest that blushes would color his face whenever 
his troops cheered him. The youthful Lieut. Cushing of the 
navy was a hero, when, having stolen his way up the Roanoke 
River under the cover of night, he stood on the bow of his 
steam-launch, amid the enemy's discharges of musketry, and 
personally exploded a torpedo under the ram Albermarle. 
Just before the famous Confederate charge at Gettysburg, a 
group of inexperienced Union troops, who were stationed at 
what afterAvards proved to be a dangerous point, with becom- 
ing confidence told the commanding officer that they were 
there to stay. The historian who mentions the circumstance 
grimly records the fact that "the most of them staid." After 
the battle of Antietam, as the dusk of evening came on, a 
gallant Union officer who had become delirious with oncoming 
typhoid fever, groped about the battlefield, turning the dead 
faces up to the star-light, in a vain search for his missing 
brother. Admiral Dupont was a hero, when, irritated by the 
implied censure^ of the President after the defeat of the iron- 
clads at Charleston, he expressed a willingness to be relieved 
of his command, and said: "No consideration for an individ- 
ual officer, whatever his loyalty and length of service, should 
weigh an instant, if the cause of the country can be advanced 
by his removal." That ^Massachusetts chaplain was a hero, 
who resigned his chajjlaincy just on the eve of the battle of 
Fredericksburg, seized a musket from the hands of a wounded 
soldier, and saying, "T nmst do something for my country," 
took his plac(^ in the ranks and met death on that inauspicious 
field. Commander Craven, of the ironclad Tecumseh, acted 
the part of a hero. when, in the battle of Mobile Bay. his 
vessel was aljout to sink from the explosion of a hidden tor- 



rili MISCKl.I.ANEA 

pcdo. At llic only opeiiiiii;' in llic turrcl tlii'ouiili which escape 
was [)<)ssibh'. he iiallatilly drew hack aiul said. "Al'ler you, 
pih)t.*" 'J''ht' hitter's life was savech Comiuander ('i'a\'eii went 
down. 'I'his dying" politely i'oi- soniehody else exhibits a di\ine 
soitiet liinti" in Inunan nature too (h'cp \'ov Ininian reast)u. 

Tile \icai'ious suffering oi' those at home also partook of 
the her(»ic. Stan* King was a hero, wIkmi he courageously 
pleached unionism in doubtful California. In the midst of 
his important labors in Ixdiali' of the nation tiiert'. he wrote 
to his fi'iends in the east: "We are ciiipping the shell here, 
and are coming out northern I'agles." 

Keecliei- was a hero, who preached oui- cause to hostile 
audiences in England. At a nuH^ting in one of the manufac- 
turing cities a taunting \'oice intei'rupted him by asking, 
"Why didn't you i)ut doM n the Confederates in DO days, as 
you said \'ou would?" To which l>eecher ret(U'ted. "We sluudd 
if tlu'y had been Englishnu'U." 

That heroic conduct also characterized the peo})h' of the 
South can be magnanimously alloAved without the least imixn- 
erishment of our glory. That (^en. L(M^'s son served as a' pri- 
\ale in the Confederate army is an illustration of the loftiest 
phase (d' ci\ic virtue. The pure manhood of Stonewall dackson 
will shine as a bright jewel of .\nierican charactcM' Avhen men 
siiall ha\e fcu'gotten that he fought on Ihe wrong side and 
m a losing cause. 

The story of heroism in tlu^ civil war is incomplete until 
\\iinian's part in it is tolil. Tlu're are men \vi\ose side reccuu- 
mendation consists in having (excellent wives. .\ familiar sen- 
timent ma\' :ippl\' hei-iv "What is better than golil .' Jasper. 
What is better than jasper.' Wisdom. What is better than 
wisdom.' Woman. What is Ixd ter than a gO(»d wouu^n? Noth- 
ing." Wonuin's ])art in A\ar's drama is a uunor one. She 
comes upon the scene ((uietly. liki^ ()phelia in the play. Much 
o\' her wtuk was not conspicuously seen: uov was it of a kind 
to daze the nudlitude. Tier devotion and resignation were 
in tlunnselves victory. Her heroism was not generally such 
as nuule Harbara Fritchie famous. It was of a tenderer, a 
more womanly sort. It was exhibited by nuiidens who. like 
those described bv Landor. "bn^athed couraa'c into the heart 



MISCELLANKA 127 

bcCorc it I)(';i1 to lovi'."" II was shown by riclily cli'cssed women 
ill oru' oi oui' loyal cities, when, after a terrible battle the 
wounded were l»rongh1 in by earfuls. These women, Avith 
bcarls iiKidi' sloul by womanly tenderness, pushed aside their 
husbands and brothers and insisted that the eare of the man- 
gled patriots should be left to their gentler ministrations. 
The sick and dying in hospitals best kimw woman's self-denial 
and how soothing her offices of sympathy. No wonder that 
a dying soldier who had been eared for, tended, and nursed 
with a mother's devotion by one of these angels of mercy, was 
heard with his last breath to mutter something about "the 
everlasting arms beneath him."" Yr\ these acts of devotion 
Avere hardly more heroic than wliat was done by thousands 
of women who staid patiently at home with the young and 
helpless and kejot courage in the heart of the nation by keep- 
ing bright the fires of patriotism on the domestic altar. 

The civil war somewhat strangely developed character. 
This Avas apparent not only among th(; leaders, but also in 
the humble ranks of the private soldier. The father of Fred- 
erick the Great cared only that his troops should be six feet 
tall. The rank and file of our national forces were measured 
by the stature of intelligence and manliness. The samc^ facility 
for adapting themselves to varied emergencies had been notice- 
al>le among our earlier RcA^olutionary troops. At the edge of 
the ice-filled Delaware, Washington said: "Who Avill lead us?" 
The mariners of Marl)lehead stepped forAvard to man the boats. 

At the battle of Malvern Hill a (Confederate colonel got 
far in advance of his regiment. When he discovered that his 
men were not folloAving, he uttered a fierce oatli and exclaimed : 
■■('ome on! do you want to live forever?" 

As illustrating hoAv variously men estimate bravery, an 
incident may be related of a Union officer who was being 
borne from the action on a stretcher. One of the attendants 
noticed that he cringed as a shell shrieked a))ov<' them. With 
something of bravado the attendant said: "You aren't afraid, 
are you. Colonel?" "Yes. 1 am afraid." he replied, "and if 
you were not a fool you would be;" which illustrates the 
tnith of the familiar saying, that a man must have courage 
in order to fear. 



12S -MliSCKM.ANKA 

yonu'tiines. in the excitement of battle, human nature as- 
serted itself strangely. At Cedar Creek, when affairs were 
taking a favorable turn. Custer rode up and kissed Sheridan. 
a repetition of wlial took plaee at Fontcnoy. An Irishman 
on board a vessel whieh was struelc 1)\ ;i cannon l)all. thrust 
his head through the opening macU' in the side in the belief 
that cannon balls are never known lo slikc Iwicc in the same 
plaee. 

The historian Motley, a man ol' intcnscsl patriotism, wa.s 
our minister to Austria during tlie war. \\ the moment of 
receiving the news of Vicksburg and Gettysburg all his family 
were absent from the house except a sleeping infant. It being 
necessary for him to gixe vent to his rapture in some way. 
he ruslunl u[» stairs and biMiding over the cradle slnmted in 
the baby's ears: ''Vicksburg is ours." 

The war repeatedly exemplified the fact tlial tlie unex- 
pected is tlie surest to happen. Kspecially was this the case 
in the develo])ment of leaders in tlu> Union aini>. (Jrant and 
Sherman. Avho displayed the gi-catest abilities as generals, had 
both been considered mediocre at West Point. Halleck never 
quite believed in Grant, but insisted that his success was due 
to luck rather than to great generalship. 

Judging from past years, there seems to be danger that 
at these memorial exercises one branch of the fighting force 
in putting down the rebellion, nnd an imi)oi'taul branch, too 
— the navy, nuvy l)e left out of mind. It is easy to account 
for this invidiousness in favor of the army. It is owing in 
part to its great luimerical superiority, and in p.iiM to the 
fact that its recruits came from evt'ry section of the country, 
and that it has living representatives in almost evei-y handet 
and settlement: while the navy was recruited chiefly from 
seaboard inhabitants, or from nuii'iuers of foreign birth, who 
had no strong bonds of association with a plaee of residence 
on land, and whose conception of country was centered in the 
flag undei' whieh they sailed. 

It is to the high praise of the common sailors of our navy, 
that while oven- tAvo hundred naval officers deserted their posts 
at the breaking out of the war, not one blue-jacket deserted 
the old flag. It is remarkable that no naval officer turned 



MISCELLANEA 12!) 

his vessel over to the enemy in the beginninji'. It was sus- 
pected, indeed, that an attempt of this kind was to be made 
by the eonnnander of a revenue eutter at New Orleans, the 
occasion which railed forth the w('ll-]<nown telegram from Gen. 
T)ix. Or'diiiarily such a course wijuld liave l)een futile owing 
to the loyalty of the crews. It would have; been a repetition 
of th(^ experience on tlic Enterprise! whcni engaged in the nearly 
(Mjual fight willi Ihc IJritish ship Boxer in 1812. An officer 
of file Eiitci-prise, despaii'ing of the engagnient. was preparing 
to haul down the stars and stripes, when a conniion sailor 
tlireatened to cut him in pieces if he did it. Thes(! allusions 
are nol made by way of disparaging the loyalty or bi-avcry 
of our ruivaJ officers, whose deeds arc; worthy of tin; highest 
praise; but to show the; almost phenomenal patriotism of our 
common sailors, who kuow by experience what the proleetion 
of the American flag means, and arc ready to defend it with 
the uttermost devotion. It is not necessary to call the roll 
of oui" naval captains, who did famous deeds at Hampton 
Roads. I'ort Royal. iMobile Hay. on the Mississippi. «nd in tiie 
harbor of ( herbourg. Th(vir names Mre imperishable on heart 
and tongue. The highest commendation of the navy was ex- 
pressed by Gen. Grant, who was too great to be envious, lie 
said he did not see how any number of troops could Iimxc 
taken Vicksburg without the assistance of the fleet. 

A peculiar interest is attached to bi-ave deeds at sea. The 
very element on which tin; mariner lives adds an air of I'omance 
to what(!ver of daring has been witru^ssed on its bosom. The 
most pathetic incidents of heroic conduct in the midst of battle 
are connected with naval exploits. Who is not touched by 
(!ollingwood's remark, as his ship sailed into action at Traf- 
algar? "Our wives," said he. "nre just about now going 
to church in England." Or by the conduct of Nelson, tin; 
greatest of naval heroes? At Copenhagen he had in different 
parts of his ship's rigging six fighting signals up, that in 
the event of one or two being shot away the rest of the fleet 
might be in no uncertainty about orders. 

ft would be unbecoming our gallantry to pass by in silence 
what was courageously done by the little extemporized navy 
of the Confederates. The desperate* valor of small crews who 



1 30 MISCELLANEA 

on several occasions manned torpedo boats and in the darkness 
placed destruction beneath blockading vessels, with a moral 
certainty that their own lives nmst l)e sacrificed in the event 
of sinking their enemy, challenges admiration. 

The Avorthiest lionors we can show those who sacrificed 
their happiness and gave their lives to preserve a government 
for US, will consist in drawing lessons from their example to 
enable us to maintain and magnify the benefactions so unself- 
ishly bestowed. 

No one thing will save this nation ; but many things. 

The first duty of citizens, looking to the permanence of 
our nationality, is to be reasonable in their expectations, and 
not to look for "grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles." 
They must look at the plain truth, and realize that national 
life is a growth ; that the law of development with a nation 
is the same as that with a man.— perfection through trial ; 
that it is most irrational to expect that this government by 
the people, the freest and best for the people themselves that 
has ever endured for a hundred years, comprising, as it does, 
a most heterogeneous population in respect to race and relig- 
ion, a population exposed to all the excesses of unusual liberty, 
is likely ever to be wholly free from the fear of internal dis- 
turbance. Another important duty is. never to despair of the 
republic. Again, no other people so much as ours need to 
discipline themselves to meet emergencies. 

This government rests, for its foundation, on the self-evi- 
dent truth that popular sovereignty can exist only where there 
is intelligence, virtue, and self-discipline in the sovereign peo- 
ple. To keep these qualities inhering in the people up to the 
salvation point is to be the ever present problem of the future. 
With us it is not a matter of choice w'hether a man shall take 
a part in managing the affairs of the state. He must do so 
as the first condition of citizenship. However great his per- 
sonal disinclination, he must be ready to encounter the practical 
politics of national, state, and other elections, on the well 
established principle, that it is better to suffer than to lose 
tlic ])ower of sufferiiig. 

In alluding to the agencies likely to contribute most to 
the pernunKMicc of our institutions, it is possible to make a 



MISCELLANEA 131 

brief reference to only one. Popular enlightenment is not 
everything. It is indispensable to democratic institutions. It 
is not mere assumption to assert that illiteracy at the South 
in a great measure rendered secession possible. Three-fourths 
of the men surrendered by Pemberton are said to have signed 
tlieiv parole with a cross. General enlightenment, moreover, 
counteracts despotism and centralization. 

It would be superfluous to spend time in urging so manifest 
a truth as that in a republic the people must be enlightened 
to fit them for the privilege of the ballot and for the admin- 
istration of justice as jurors. Judge Pierrepont once, in an 
address to law students, epitomized this truth so forcibly that 
his language may properly be repeated. "Our theory," he 
says, '"is, that the most ignorant must govern if they are 
the most numerous." The greatest Englishman who has ever 
lived has said: "Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge 
the wing wherewith we fly to heaven." Another Englishman 
of the present century has also said : ' ' That there should one 
man die ignorant who had capacity for knowledge, this I call 
a tragedy." It is not yet time to talk about the danger of 
an aristocracy of culture in a country where at different times 
the highest office has been held by a rail-splitter, a tailor, a 
tanner, a tow-path boy. a poor clergyman's son, and a clerk 
from a store. 

But why these ceremorials for the dead, who may not hear 
our eulogies, or see our symbols of grateful remembrance? 
Though all this may seem irrational, when considered in the 
light of common reason, it is fully warranted by the reasoning 
of the heart, a logic convincing and universal, and which rests, 
no doubt, in an instinctive belief in man's immortality. But 
even without this motive and belief, the sense of a grateful 
return for personal sacrifices resulting to us in good that is 
beyond estimate, would not be satisfied with anything less 
than some spectacular memorial to aid the imagination. And 
there is something agreeable in the thought, that it is not 
inconsistent with "the philosophy which gives us our souls," 
to suppose that thousands of martial spirits who left their 
bodies on battle-fields, in hospitals, and in prisons during the 
war, are at this hour "filling up the numbers" in assemblies 



] :i2 MISCELLANEA 

like this. Yet if it be atliiiitted that the dead are wholly 
beyoud the reach of our gratitude, that they are as insensible 
to what we do as the coldest materialism would argue, it 
is still not undignified or unreasona])le to nunnorijilize their 
benefactions to us. What we do by ceremonies like tlu-sc 
keeps fresh their bravery and patriotism, and makes tluni a 
perpetual and blessed influence in the life of the nation. The 
sentiment which among us has caused the setting apart of 
one day in each year as a Memorial Day in honor of the 
nation's dead, is intensest among people the most civilized, 
and has prevailed in all periods of human history where a 
high intellectual progress has left its tide marks. The burying 
of the slain on the field of Gettysburg is but in imitation of 
what was done at Marathon as a special recognition of bravery. 
It was from the law of Athens that a hint was obtained for 
the yearly reconsecration of the patriotic ashes on that decisive 
field, where loving lips, perchance with less thrilling eloquence 
than that of old, in recognition of the untimely fall of so 
many young and brave, still tell us that "the year has lost 
its spring." 

More and more, as the years go l)y. does the conxietion 
become settled that the criterion for estimating the worth of 
men is this, what did they for humanity? Judged by this 
standard, the brave dead whose self-sacrifice we willingly make 
live in our hearts, are deserving of monuments as lasting as 
adamant, bronze, or the inspiration of bard i-an give. What 
did these men for humanity? They saved to humanity the 
best type of popular government ever devised. In our thought- 
lessness, at times, it is easy to belittle their achievements, and 
flippantly confess a satisfaction with what might have been, 
in the e^ent of national disruption ; but the integrity of the 
Union which they saved has an endlessness of meaning for 
struggling men for all time. 

The republican form of government has ever been the ideal 
and dream of man. Under its fostering care iirt. liter^iture 
and enlightenment have reached their highest limits. Repul)- 
lican institutions produced the glorious age of Pericles in 
Greece, crowned with Phidias the first of sculptors. Thucydides 
the first of historians, and with Socrates, the greatest of moral- 



MISCEr^LANEA 1 '^'-J 

ists. What in the way of praise may not be said of Repul)]iean 
Rome? Her men of genius loom above a tliousand years of 
iii('(li;e\'ril mist like mountain tops above eloud-Hlled valleys. 
As the nations emerged from the dark ages, the spirit of 
liberty was slow in asserting itself. Its first spasmodic at- 
tempts in the direction of popular government appeared in 
the Italian cities; while at the time of founding this nation 
Ibc river Rhin(\ with free Switzerland at its source and the 
Dutch Republic at its mouth, typified the destined transmis- 
sion of fre(> institutions from their birth-place in tlie east to a 
Uicne congenial home in the west. 

The American nation, which has been called the last exper- 
iment of free government, is in a most real sense what the 
French people have so generously symbolized it at the sea- 
entrance of the Metropolis, "Liberty enlightening the world." 
It was the taunt of a witty Frenchman a century ago, that 
tlic United States was a giant without bones. I'niil the crisis 
of civil war had been passed, a crisis in which a large free 
population showed a miraculous ability to resist disinlegi'ation. 
those among Europeans Mdio predictcn] anything but an early 
termination to our national life were looked upon as fools. 
How is it now? The glorious republic is no longei' regarded 
by lliciii as a giant without liones. A gianl. indeed, il is. 
and. thanks to the loyal living and dead, a gianl \\'ilh well- 
knit frame and pleasing })ropoi'ti()ns. 

There is another achievement of the loyal defendei-s of the 
I'jiion which must be regar-ded as one of tlie greatest benetits 
ever wrought oiit for civilization, the doing aAvay with sla^■el•y. 
It is true that this accomplishment was rather accidental than 
intejitional : yet the great fact remains that this residt is 
liardly second in importance to the preservation of the Tnion. 

In vieAV of such results, reached through a spirit so unself- 
ish and so ])hilanthropic. almost superfluous seem the words 
of Abraham Lincoln: "We luM-e highly resolve that these dead 
shall not ha\e died in vain." 



134 MISCELLANEA 



AI'OTHEOSIS OF I'ENN. 



WILLIAM rKNN'S .staliic crowning tlic lofty tower of 
the city hall in Philadelphia, and in this respect 
accorded a distinction quite unique, may Ix; account- 
ed for in part because of Penn's rather exclusive greatness in 
tiie city of brotherly love. However this may be, no instance, 
it is believed, occurs of a like distinction being bestoAved upon 
a man by an admiring community. Within a radius of many 
miles, from every point of tlie comi)ass, the first oljjcM't to 
be seen as one approaches Philadelphia, is the C^uak(M' law- 
giver in bronze, his heroic Hgure minimized by an altitude 
of ()\er li\-e luiiulred feet. lm|)osing and h)f1>- monuments 
eternizing human greatness ai'e familiar enough the world 
over, but the human objects of their memorializing ar(^ not 
commonly represeiitml by statues placetl al)ove Ihem. The 
figures thus placed are usually of mythical lievoes, demigods, 
or deified abstractions. The first object sighted by the (ireek 
sailor of olden time when he entered the Piraeus Avas the 
statue of the goddess Minerva, from her elevated position 
overlooking the Parthenon, just as Penn is the tirsf home 
object seen l>\- the retui'ning Philadelphia sailor far down 
the Delaware. The Colossus of Khodes typitied the lieaihen 
god .\pollo, and the Partholdi statue in New York harbor 
is a (leitied abst raci i(Mi. tlie (Joddess of Liberty enlightening 
the AV(U'ld. Conld Penn have foi-eseeu his apotheosis, it might 
be interesting to know in what s{uril he would have viewed 
it. While as a material and spectacular mode of conferring 
honor it is most imposing, he would no doulit have prefcn'red 
a differcMit enshriiiement. 

AVilliam Ptuin. though not the founder of a society or sect. 
Avas a great law-giver. Avorking Avithin the narroAV restraints 
of one of the nudtitudinous Christian sects. ITe aimeil to 
make real and ])ractical the rules of human living, by most 
Christians even relegated to the region of the ideal, set forth 
in the teachings (»f Jesus. Tt matters not hoAv far short of 
success this essay of Penn has proved in the past or may prove 
in the futuivv the sincere and courageous effort is sufficiently 
successful to be an imperishable object-lesson to mankind. 



MISCELLANEA 135 

Landor, in his Conversations, devotes more Ihan h liiiii(ii'(Ml 
pages to an imaginary discussion carried on by Penn and Lord 
Peterborough, wherein tlie tmiets of the Society ol' Friends, 
and especially Penn's idc^as of government as practically ap- 
plied, are thoroughly dissected. Penn and Peterborough are 
supposed to be riding on lior-seback througli the Pennsylvania 
forest about the year Ki!)!. though neither of them could 
actually have been there at tliat time. Peterborough accuses 
Penn of "running into a prison for the sake of liberty." Being 
a military man, Peterborough uses the phrases peculiar to 
iiis profession and manifests a zeal for war which quite dis- 
tresses his companion. Penn is made to say: "Toleration 
is in il.self Ihe essence of Christianity." When asked why 
he had not left a tree standing here and there in the meadows 
for the sak(! of ornament, Penn admitted that this might pro- 
j)erly liMve been done for the sake of the cattle, but said the 
ornament of a country is tlie sight of creatures enjoying thtiir 
exislence. In one place an Mllusion is made to the fact tlial 
Ihe hiws of the Friends i)rohibit dancing and iinisic. Peter- 
borough says: "You are no less proud than other }nen, though 
dift'erently." Penn would use tbe word "veneration," but 
not "pride." lie declares it impossil)le to rescue the human 
race from the abyss of sin and slavery, unless they can be 
induced to look upon Christianity in its purity. Peterborough 
predicts llial tlie Society of Friends will soon suffer its enthu- 
siasm 1o cool, and tluit within half a century it will dissolve 
frojn very fmrity. lie also intimates that Quakers are not 
regardh'ss of the "main chance." Penn denies that Christ 
ever said. "T bring not peace but a sword." but maintains 
that the words have been reversed by accident. The dis- 
cussion also touches upon the possibilities of avoiding war. 
of the baneful influence of the theatre, the fine arts, litigation, 
wealth, and avarice. Peterborough criticises the use of the 
word "Friend" in all cases, as sometimes lacking sincerity. 
To this Penn replies that they call every man friend because 
they wish to be every man's friend. As they are riding 
leisurely along, Peterborough notices four men drawing lots, 
and is horrified that gambling is tolerated in Penn's colony: 
but Penn a.'-sures him that the men are deputed to judge a 



1 ."it) MISCELLANEA 

cause ; that among them tliere are no solicitoi's ; that every 
citizen states liis own case; that four intelligent men are 
appointed by lot as judges in presence of the litigants, that 
they draw a second time, and he to Avhom the lot falls decides 
the question in dispute. 

Preeminent among the literary men who have paid their 
re8])e('ts to AYilliam Peun are ]\lacaulay and Landor. the formei* 
in his History of England and the latter in his Imaginary 
( 'onversations. ]\lacaulay, l)etter than almost any other writer. 
I'XiMnplifies the fact that brilliancy in an author is a most 
perilous gift when his view of a subject is prejudiced. Lord 
Melbourne wished he was as certain of anything as Tom 
Macaulay Avas of everything. What IMacaulay in his history 
says of Penn is so manifestly biased and abusively wrong, 
that even Macaulay himself late in life saw fit to apologize 
for it. Sober history, so called, is, it would seem, not wholly 
undeserving the hard opinion of Horace Walpole. who. when 
a young woman had expressed to him a desire to read his- 
tory, said to her, "'Don't, it's a lie." Historians are human. 
Macaulay was very human. Penn's character, to be sure, was 
not the strongest, a fact quite consonant with his professed 
crecHl. The England of his day was politically and religiously 
factious and turbulent. It would be Avonderful. in the cir- 
cumstances, if he had escaped all appearance of inconsist- 
I'ticy. "Tliey who stand high." it has been said, "have many 
blasts to shake them." Penn professed an almost unapproach- 
able morality and purity of life. The most trifling slips of 
such a man are only too eagerly nuignified. Macaulay, with 
evident injustice, accuses l*enn of obsequious fawning to James 
II.. and of i)laying the part of a courtier, a part inconsistent 
Avith his professed simplicity of life; of uttering falsehood; 
of being guilty of scandalous conduct through Jacobitish zeal ; 
of quite forgetting the first principle of Quaker faith, that 
even defensive war is sinful; and of shoAving such gratitude* 
towards James that he clandestinely advocated the 1)ringing 
of a foreign army into his own country. 

The most fitting honors for Penn are not corporeal. A 
State, a city, or a monument of stone or brass is in its way 
and degree a proper item of qualified immortality; l)ut like 



MISCELLANEA 137 

the "Treaty Elm" they must succumb to relentless time. 
But a mighty personal influence, inspired by everlasting prin- 
ciples of right, is as endless as human love. What Landor 
has made Pericles say of Aristides applies with much force 
to William Penu : "Aristides vi^ill be forefather to many brave 
and honest men not descended from his lineage or his country ; 
he will be the founder of more than nations; he will give body, 
vitality, and activity to sound principles." 



MASTERS OP EPIGRAM. 



THE richness of a work of genuine literary art may 
often be best shown by culling from its pages and 
placing side by side striking original passages. This, 
to be sure, does not reveal the highest qualities of an author. 
Plot, characterization, and ethical management occupy a loft- 
ier plane of excellence. But l)right. striking thought, expressed 
in brief, happy language, is always the conspicuous accom- 
paniment of the best creation. The nearest approach to an 
exception to this rule is found in the writings of Walter 
Scott. Of all the great English literary lights he has the 
fewest quotable sentences. Shakspeare, on the other hand, 
surpasses all others in his prodigality of unique and piquant 
epigram. For the great majority of his readers this pecul- 
iarity is the main, if not the only, attractive feature, while 
with only the few, and those real students of the poet, his 
higher power, as shown in the creation of character and in 
the development of life and morals, is the overshadowing 
one. An inferior writer oftenest proclaims his weakness by 
his attempts at brilliant thinking and fine diction, his paste- 
jewels of speech being recognizable by the merest tyro in 
taste. What a c-lear ring of the coin of speech is heard in 
some of the passages of Junius, for instance ! How exhila- 
rating in its surprise is his reference to the undesirableness 
of "rising for a moment from obscurity to infamy!" The 
epigrammatic pickings from a single volume of Balzac are 
cnougli to ])lace him among the foremost novelists. For pro- 
fuseness and brilliancy in terse, pithy expressions he reminds 



1 38 MI.SCELLANEA 

one of Rabelais. His Cousin Pons, counted among his best 
works, but preeminently so for excellent delineation of char- 
acter, is peculiarly striking for its originality of thought and 
expression. In this volume Balzac bids us "find, if we can, 
the man who loves the calling whereby he lives." "No one," 
he says, "can bid farewell to a habit." Again. "A life of 
purity and stainless honesty extorts admiration, even from 
the most corrupt." "Hatred born of a trifle," he likens to 
"the small pebble that sets the avalanche in motion." He 
describes a woman as "aged rather than old." "The unhap- 
piness of sensitive old men is," according to him, "that they 
cannot belong to the epoch in which they live." Quite unsur- 
passed is the double entendre of the old bachelor Pons in 
his attempt to utter an appropriate sentiment in honor of 
his friend's matrimonial engagement, — "Marriage is the end 
of man." For the sorely grief-stricken he assures us "there 
are certain critical occasions in life when all Ave can l)ear 
is to feel that our friend is near us." " 'Tis only firm con- 
viction." he declares, "that eaii give rise to deep emotions." 
Instead of saying that a joke has passed through several edi- 
tions, he tells of "a joke that has gray mustaches." For 
downright pathos the conduct and sentiment of Schmucke 
at the funeral of his dear friend Pons is uneciualed: "Mon- 
sieur, are you the son, the l)rother. or the father of the deceas- 
ed?" inquired the man of office. "I am all dat, and more, — 
I am his friend," said Schmucke, weeping profusely. 



A GOOD HISTORICAL NOVEL. 

TO those whose liberal reading of good literature has 
brought them to feel indifference and even contempt 
for recent fiction, it is a decided relief to find a modern 
story of such robust and genuine literary quality as Dr. S. 
Weir Mitchell's "Hugh Wynne." This novel has an all-around 
strength which reasonably satisfies the critical reader. It 
stands, with evident fixedness, in the category of good prose- 
fiction, and to say this is. perhaps, praise enough. 

The general literary stamp of Hugh Wynne is through- 



MISCELLANEA 139 

out suggestive of good workmanship. Its epigrams and "old 
saws" call Balzac to mind, and in the happy use of them 
its author follows, at a great distance to be sure, Shakspeare 
and Browning. Following are specimen epigrammatic quo- 
tations: "There is no age to a woman's money;" "It is some- 
times th<' l)()dy which saves the soul;" "It seems odd to have 
color to a religion. I wonder if drab goodness is better than 
red goodness;" "After men have beconu^ wise enough to 
understand women. I protest there will remain the mother, 
whom no man will ever comprehend;" "Not enough 1)lood 
to blush with;" "An Archbishop would learn to swear in 
the army;" "When a scamp loves a good girl, let him thank 
the devil that love is blind." 

Characterization ranks among the excellences of writers 
of fiction, and here in the main Dr. Mitchell wins our approval. 
Hugh Wynne's SAveet French mother and his charming devo- 
tion to her fill the reader's mind with a healthful picture 
of the sacred relation between child and parent such as all 
could wish it to be. To have created such a mother is. as 
has been said of Fielding's creation of Amelia, "a good ac- 
tion." The father of Hugh is depicted as of stern honesty, 
narrow religious bigotry, and paternal dignity. Jack Warder 
is original and consistently drawn. Aunt Gainor, with her 
big nose and rugged masculine sense, is a strong creation 
and appears to the mind's eye distinct and real. The villain- 
ous cousin. Arthur Wynne, with the exception of Darthea 
the most difficidt to manage of all the dramatis [xt'sonw, is 
an artistic creation, as every critic must concede who allows 
deformity as well as beauty to be a proper subject for art. 
The heroine, Darthea. around whom the love-thread of the 
story winds, is in a measure disappointing, the treatment of 
this character being for the author apparently an up-hill bus- 
iness and calling for constant effort on his part. Darthea, 
while in many respects a clear-cut, vigorous creation, is in 
no sense a natural love character. There are some fine touches 
in the minor personages of the story, and an occasional strong 
light is turned upon historical ones. Washington is shown a 
little more human than as usually portrayed, perhaps unjustly 
so. though the writer's admiration for him is sufficiently pro- 
nounced and wholesome. 



140 MISCELLANEA 

As a historical novel, no loss than for intrinsic creative 
excellence, Hugh Wynne is a valuable contribution to Ameri- 
can literature. This historical feature is necessarily hampered 
by the exigencies of love-making. Excepting the siege of 
Yorktown, the description of which is fidl and vivid, and 
tile tiglit at Germantovv^n, of which too little is made, battles 
iigure but little in the novel. The hero is not permitted to 
share the liardships of \^allcy Forge, nor to be present at 
till' battb' of Monmouth, evidently that he may be in Phila- 
(U'lpliia foi' tlie purpose of love-intrigue. Much is made of 
the Arnold-Aii(lr(! episode, and this piece of work is extremely 
well done. 

Considerabk' local colonial information, relating chietly to 
Philadelphia, is contained in the book, social and religious 
customs being revived with more or less truthfulness, certainly 
with fascinating power. The inferences to be naturally drawn 
from the book regarding the character and tenets of the 
Friends will, with some show of justice, find ready objectors 
among the members of that pacific and admirable sect. 

It is not often tliat tlie plots and situations of a story are 
eoiu-ei\ ('(1 and atteiidt'd to with so much skill as they are in 
Hugh Wynne. They are sut^ciently numerous to maintain 
intei-est. witliout offending the judgment arid taste. 



HTLEKS OF EXGLAXD. 

Two Williams, two Henrys with Stephen between, 
A Richard, a John, a Third Henry are seen. 
Three Edwards next Second Richard precede. 
Then three more Henrys in succession lead. 
Fourth Edward and Fifth, and Richard number three 
To Seventh and Eighth Henrys give way speedily: 
Then Edward the Sixth, and Mary and Bess 
Give place to the Stuarts' long line of distress; 
Of whom .lames the First, Scotland's king, leads these names — 
Charles the First, the two Cromwells, Second Charles, and Second James. 
Queen Anne follows here (after William and Mary), 
And four Hanoverians, whose names do not vary- 
Then William the Fourth, and Victoria good and great, 
Whose son and grandson in turn rule Britain's state. 



MISCELLANEA 141 

PROSE - POETS. 

A WRITER with some audacity claims that America has 
produced only three men of original genius. Jonathan 
Edwards. Benjamin Franklin, and Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne; thus seeming by an arbitrary line to exclude all our 
poets from the company of the inspired. If this dictum be 
accepted, it must be taken to imply that poets are not neces- 
sarily possessed of original genius, for no one will deny that 
Poe and Whittier are as rightfully called poets as are Chaucer 
and Burns. As might be expected in consideration of our 
youth as a nation, we may be said to have discovered no 
literary characters worthy to be classed with the loftiest 
geniuses, still we hav(; a number who rise above mere respect- 
ability. Our writers of the nineteenth century show well by 
the side of their contemporaries of other countries, and in 
some respects they appear i)reeminent by the comparison. Our 
authors are exceptional for their purity of personal character 
and for the healthy moral tone of their writings. The list 
is marked also by an unusual number of those who write 
almost equally well both prose and poetry. Matthew Arnold, 
himself a prose-poet, could not quite decide whether Emerson 
is poet, essayist, or philosopher. Lowell is in some degree 
all these, and a brilliant satirist besides. Holmes and Stedman, 
to say nothing of others, may be added to Emerson and Lowell 
to make a quartet of contemporary American authors pos- 
sessing in an unusual degree this double facility in literary 
composition. It would not be easy to find their parallel in 
any other nation's literature of a single century. These men 
prove what Stedman says in his Nature of Poetry, that a 
real poet usually writes good prose;. These writers alone are 
enough to remove all the discredit that has been cast upon 
poets who presume to write prose, even if it be a discredit 
emphasized by Carlyle, who declares that no man has any 
business to try to write poetry if it is possible for him to 
express himself in prose. Landor. who wrote exquisite prose 
as well as praiseworthy verse, gloried in the thought that 
he received inspiration from having his birth-place near that 
of Shakspeare. Of this coincidence he proudly says: 



142 MISCELLANEA 

•'1 drank of Avon, too, a dangerous draught, 
That roused within the feverish thirst of song." 

Milton's prose is of the highest order. Goethe, who may 
well vie with Milton and two or three others in holding as a 
poet the next place after Homer, Dante, and Shakspeare, wrote 
prose of surpassing excellence, and enough of it to immor- 
talize him if he had never tried verse at all. Not a little of 
Shakspeare 's brightest thought is expressed in veriest prose. 
The poet Goldsmith depicted in prose fiction characters that 
drew forth admiration from both Scott and Goethe ; and to 
be approved by these men is indeed praise enough. Scott 
was led to the Avriting of prose fiction by the example of 
Cervantes. Both at first acquired fame as poets, but, being 
eclipsed by rivals, they abandoned the muse and proceeded 
to Avrite the best prose of its kind. Scott said: "1 relinquished 
poetry because Byron 'bet' me." Swift, so famous as an essay- 
ist, began as a writer of poetry, as did also i*lato and numer- 
ous other distinctly prose writers. 



THE PLEASURES OF READING SHAKSPEARE. 

FOR the novice, primarily, the reading of Shakspeare is a 
source of pleasure on account of his marvelous richness 
of literary expression and beauty of tliought. This 
greatest of poets is not only unecpialed by any other writer 
for the number and excellence of the fine tilings he says, but 
he can almost be said to surpass in this respect all other writ- 
ers. If a poet is to be estimated by the luuiiber of quotable 
passages taken from his writings, a ci'iterion by no means 
universally true, Shakspeare stands so decidedly first that no 
one may be mentioned as second to him. His masterly thought, 
almost infinite in Aariety, is at the same time enhanced l)y a 
diction so inimitable, so rhythmic and poetic, so seemingly 
artless yet so perfect in its art, that no otlier may be placed 
in comparison with him. One of the most quoted poets after 
Shakspeare is Pope, but his thoughts are in prosaic rather 
than poetic dress. The best things in Milton, Browning, and 
Wordsworth rise at times to the highest degree of excellence. 



MISCELLANEA 143 

but in qimutity they are meagre when placed beside the riches 
of Shakspeare. Thousands of the admirers of Shakspeare never 
get beyond this first and most obvious phase of the great poet 's 
charm, and never come to know that his true greatness lies 
in something deeper and more fundamental. 

Another source of pleasure in reading Shakspeare is found 
in his characterization, not only in his own creations, but in his 
historic persons as well. xVlthough he does not alwaj^s create, 
but sometimes accepts his dramatis pvrsonce from the hands of 
others, even in the latter case his magic retouch amounts to a 
creation. In matters historical and l)iographical. it may be 
remarked, the poet is not under oath. In treating of history 
and biography he allows himself the privilege accorded the 
artist in the treatment of a landscape, who raises a mountain 
here and depresses another there, and for variety adds to his 
picture a forest, a brook, an old mill, or a church, as it suits 
his fancy. To emphasize by repetition, it is a real delight to 
study Shakspeare 's characters as characters, which are of so 
great variety and of such surpassing excellence, that they 
simply put the creations of other writers out of competition. 
The profoundest minds have expended their critical powers 
upon this feature of Shakspeare 's work. Mention need only 
be made of Goethe. liis critique on the ungraspable Hamlet 
is the highest tribute one great poet ever paid another. For- 
tunately, the shadowiness enveloping such characters as Ham- 
let and Lear does not veil Shakspeare 's creations generally. 
His men and women are for the most part clearly portrayed, 
and their lifelikeness is readily within the appreciation of 
common minds. As a pleasure study, Shakspeare 's women 
cannot be too highly praised. Their charms never stale. As 
is the case with the personal charms of Cleopatra, so it is with 
the richer graces of heart and soul which shine forth in Juliet. 
Imogen, C'ordelia. and many others. It is in the contemplation 
of such offspring of genius that the jpsthetic appetite "grows 
by what it feeds on." 

The highest pleasure to be derived from Shakspeare 's dra- 
mas is admittedly that afforded by the ethics they contain. 
Only the select few. possessed of a finer intuition and equipped 
with the results of prolonged and severe study, rise to the 



144 MISCELLANEA 

ethereal regions of this highest enjoyment. The ethics of 
Shakspeare's tragedies is to their inferior qualities somewhat 
as classic music is to the simple and uninspired songs of the 
street. 



ENGLISH ORTHOEPY. 



THE human voice is one of the greatest of God's gifts, 
whether as an instrument of music, a means of ordinary 
conversation, or a medium of elegant oral discourse. 
The study of English, then, should mean something beyond 
the study of the works of English and American authors, or 
facility in writing correct English ; it must include correct 
speaking of the language, and especially the charm that be- 
longs to good oral reading. The natural order is too often 
reversed: pupils are set to studying the diction, style, and 
abstruse passages of such writers as Tennyson, ]Macaulay. and 
Hawthorne, who could not read a page orally with grace and 
intelligence. The coming English, as it should be taught in 
the secondary school, will make much of speaking the language 
properly and reading it aloud intelligently. As in music re- 
gard is had not only for the quality of the composition but 
for the way it is played or sung, so in literature stress should 
be laid upon the oral rendering, as well as upon the literary 
content. 

For the present purpose of this article, oral expression is 
essentially narrowed to a single phase of the subject, orthoepy, 
or pronunciation, or, as it is sometimes designated, phonology. 
Orthoepy lies at the very foundation of both speaking and 
oral reading, and, consequently, is no insigniticant part of 
the teaching of English. Grammar is defined as the art of 
speaking and writing a language correctly ; but by common 
acceptance, correct speaking has reference to correct syntac- 
tical forms rather than to correct oral delivery. Hence, to 
satisfy the usually recognized demands of grammar, it is only 
necessary that a speaker avoid false syntax. But to give 
correct oral expression to our words, as regards accent and 
the sound of the letters, should be considered as desirable 



MISCELLANEA 1-45 

an aci'omplishment as to observe in speech any of the other 
proprieties. George William Curtis, one of the most polished 
orators of the century, attended to the minutest points of ortho- 
epy with the critical care of an accomplished tragedian. 

There is but one sure remedy for the imperfections of 
speech, and that is much reading aloud before competent 
critics who censure freely. The claim is sometimes made, 
and on good grounds, that Avith all the training of the schools 
the teaching of grammar, so far as it is intended to produce 
the habit of proper oral expression, generally fails to accom- 
plish its purpose. One obvious reason for this is the unfav- 
orable influences of the home and the street, where violations 
of ])oth syntax and orthoepy are so prevalent in connnon 
discourse as to neutralize the instniction of the school. Often. 
even the pupil's attempts to overcome his defects are ridiculed 
by his associates, and he is regarded as a pedant. The teacher, 
however, must not relax his efforts, but rather redouble them, 
trusting that none of his labor will be in vain in the end. 
Some one has said with epigrammatic force, that "no virtuf 
is safe that is not enthusiastic.'' This is preeminently true 
of those who make right oral expression the object of their 
labors. 

To accomplish what professional duty demands, the teacher 
of correct oral expression, and this should mean every teacher, 
must be politely aggressive in criticising his pupils whenever 
detected in the mispronunciation of a word, and must add zeal 
to demonstrativeness. A difficulty at the outset is the determi- 
nation of the standard of authority in pronunciation. No two 
lexicographers wholly agree. The teacher, however, can hard- 
ly be expected to follow any one authority invariably. Speak- 
ers who are most careful in their attention to accuracy in 
oral discourse are the least likely to be content with a single 
authority. The pronunciation of English words is marked by 
some strange inconsistencies, showing that it is sometimes a 
purely arbitrary matter, and has no regard for analogy; e. g., 
"latent," "patent." It gives one a startling sensation to 
become suddenly aware of some unaccountable mistake in 
orthoepy, which he has been making unconsciously all his 
life. AVhen old Dr. Johnson was a boy, he started out to 



1 46 MISCELLANEA 

maki' of himself a violin player ; but when some one told 
him that, in ordei' to play well, a violinist must play all the 
lime, he gave up the attempt. It is just so with human speech. 
It is not enough to become proficient in it; one must constantly 
exert himself to continue proficient. It is possible to relapse 
from a high standard of correct speech to a state of practical 
iiidift'ereiice. This fight for the correct pronunciation of Eng- 
lisli. if taken up with a view to any worthy degree of success, 
inusl l)e taken up for life, and the contlict must be waged 
every day and every hour. 

Elocution has reeeived a bad name, and it is only just to 
say that its unhappy relegation to disgrace is to be laid at 
the doors of its self -proclaimed friends. So many without 
the pretense of culture have stormcjd and ranted in the name 
of elocution, that the word has been brought into contempt. 
Some of these elocutionary exploiters "Play such fantastic 
tricks before high Heaven as makes the angels weep." Never- 
theless, the teacher of elocution, if cultivated and competent, is 
one of the most important teachers in the school. The influence 
of his instruction is far-reaching, humanizing, and every way 
salutary. 



HORACE. 

TllERP] are in the world's history three epochs of excep- 
tional brilliancy, — the age of Pericles, the age of Au- 
gustus, and the age of Elizabeth. It is no small matter 
that a great man lived amid the stirring scenes and intellectual 
awakenings of any one of these periods, and that he was able 
to say, ''Qnoruui pars magna fui." This the Latin poet Horace 
could say, as a participant in the momentous events of the 
Augustan age, — the strife between Caesar and Pompey, the 
passing of the Rubicon, the battle of Pharsalia, the memorable 
"Ides of March." and the defeat of Brutus and Cassius at 
Pliilippi. Although the part he played was essentially one 
of peace, he was a conspicuous figure in the golden age of 
Rome. 

Horace was born at Venusia. a countrv town on the borders 



MISCELLANEA 147 

of Apulia and Campania, in the year 65 B. C. His father, 
at one time a slave but made a freedman before his son's 
birth, is thought to have been a public auctioneer. The son. 
it will be seen, owed nothing to distinguished ancestry, and 
in this respect was less favored than his literary contempor- 
aries, C^atullus and Ovid. He was proud of having sprung 
from the common people. He was an only child, a fact not 
to be lost sight of when his disposition is taken into account. 
Like Cassius, he was of a hasty temper, but his passion was 
soon cooled. His spirit was one of happy contentment. He 
had no great desire for wealth. He had an inordinate love 
of country life. He was of a stature below the medium, and 
was thick-set and fat. His hair, originally black, early began 
to turn gray. He had dark and Mu^ak eyes. Of his dress he 
was careless. Unfortunately we have no authentic busts or 
medallions of Horace. He was a vegetarian, and, like Virgil, 
a bachelor. A fondness for l)ooks treating of great old men 
was one of his characteristics; these he loved next after his 
friends. 

The great poets have not all been well educated. Of the 
renowned trio. Homer, Dante, and Shakspeare. Dante alone 
seems to have been favored in this particular. Horace had 
the best education of his time ; to this end his father was 
scrupulously attentive. At the age of tM'elve Horace was taken 
to Rome, where he enjoyed superior school advantages, as 
his father believed that the completest intellectual culture was 
the best guarantee of a successful career in life. The father 
even acted as his son's pedagogue and went to school with 
him every day. He also took the dt?epest interest in his son's 
moral training, and to this end gave constant personal over- 
sight, a privilege tlie soi] probably had the benefit of until 
his twentieth year. Horace often declared that he owed every- 
thing to his fatlu^r's care. So great was his filial esteem, that, 
.if allowed to choose his father from among all the great men 
of history, he could find none to be preferred to his own. He 
makes no mention of his mother or of other relatives. Horace, 
at first at Rome, was educated principally through the study 
of Latin authors and Homer. Subsequently he went to Athens 
and gave his attention to philosophy, "searching after truth 



148 MISCELLANEA 

among the groves of the Academy," where Plato had taught 
three centuries before. Here, for three or four years imme- 
diately preceding the death of Julius Caesar, he continued 
his education zealously and without interruption, having as 
fellow-students other Roman youths, and among them the son 
of Cicero. 

Horace's native strength of character may be seen in the 
fact that at the early age of twenty-two, although the son 
of a freedman and without military experience, he was made 
a military tribune in the army of Bnitus and Cassius, an 
office equal in rank to that of brigadier in our service. He 
must have lacked military bearing, and have been wholly want- 
ing in taste for a soldier's life. It is worthy of remark, that 
it is altogether likely that Brutus was not a good judge of 
what goes to the making of a successful military commander. 
The poet's allusion in one of the odes to having left his shield 
behind him at Philippi, is most likelj^ playful and no acknowl- 
edgment of cowardice. He evidently means to laugh at the 
absurdity of having been a soldier at all. 

As we cannot know all the circumstances, it is impossible 
to understand how Horace gained the friendship of Octavius. 
especially after having so emphatically sided with his enemies. 
We onl}' know that the process was gradual and required 
thirteen years for its accomplishment, that is, if the ode in 
Avhich he first eulogizes Caesar is to be trusted. 

The works of Horace contain much that is autobiographical. 
AVhile he often alludes to himself, he generally escapes the 
charge of egotism. He does not, like Rousseau, profess to 
i-eveal his uttermost self, even to telling everything that is 
to his discredit ; he does confess to some obliquities in morals 
that call for the exercise of a charitable judgment. It is not 
to be supposed that he is always quite serious in his self- 
revelations, although his apparent frankness makes it easy to 
believe what he says of himself. He depicts life ar Rome in 
minute detail, ev(>n to its dudes, mad dogs, dinners, suicides, 
and funerals. His description of a l)ore is for all time. 

Though in his writings Horace sometimes uses the language 
of the religion of his time, and often alludes to the Olympian 
mythology, he evidently does both with little sincerity. In 



MISCELLANEA 1 4:9 

this respect he is imlike Virgil, whose Ncry fibre Avas rcvereuee. 
Iloraee. without doubt, believed in a future state of existeuee. 
but one of no eonsequenee when compared with the |)rt'S(Mil 
life. He lacked the religious temperament, though, in tlie 
later years of his life, his skepticism was less pronounced. 

Horace had what has been called "the rare gift of raillery, 
which flatters the self-love of those whom it seems not to 
spare." He had a kind of contempt for the early Latin poets. 
Poverty and youth gave audacity to his satire. His egotism 
appears rarely, as when he prophesies his own immortality, 
"striking the stars with head sublime." His No)! omnis moriar, 
if egotism, is egotism well approved by time. Plis character 
and writings were greatly influenced by his early natural 
surroundings, as he shows by contrasting the vices of the 
city with the virtues of the country. By a few writers of 
note Horace has been denounced as a flatterer. Owing to the 
circumstances in which he was placed, he would have been 
more than human if the charge were Avholly unfounded. 

About fifty years ago. quite after the schoolboy fashion, 
and with the irksome feeling of one who is set to a disagree- 
able task. I first made the acquaintance of this poet. Though 
l was at that time undisciplined and but slightly acquainted 
with books, still something of the poet's genius was felt by 
me and had its influence in forming a literary taste. 

Like Goethe, the most autobiographical of poets, Horace 
■"transmutes experience into song." He copies the Greeks, 
as every writer of taste is likely to do. To copy the Greeks 
successfully will alw^ays be a mark of good taste. When Virgil 
was accused of imitating Homer, he declared it easier to steal 
Hercules 's club than Homer's verse. Horace was something 
far superior to being an imitator of the Greeks. Mil man says 
regarding him: "Of Rome and the Roman mind no one can 
Iviiow anything who is not profoundly versed in Horace." 
Horace was at first inclined to write Greek verses, just as 
Milton and Landor for a time wrote Latin verses. Upon his 
return home from Greece, his father being dead, his property 
confiscated, and being himself an enemy of the new and domi- 
nant party, he was driven to writing in order to gain a liveli- 
hood. He always wrote slowly and with nuich painstaking. 



15U MISCELLANEA 

It was charac'tcristic of his art to shun all rln^torical tlourish. 
His first writings were his satires and some of his epodes ; 
the odes came next ; the epistles last. His epistles have very 
appropriately been called "the canon of good taste." These 
he could not have written until qualified for it by experience. 
Horace can never be a favorite with immature minds. He 
is the ancient classic writer most popular with scholars. To 
appreciate him fully, one must read much between the lines. 
As stated in an essay by Professor O'Leary, "TTnder and 
through all tliat Horace wrote there runs a strand of meaning 
which calls for a fuller exploration than a single perusal 
enables us to make." Following is what Byron says of his 
early inability to appreciate Horace: — 

"Then farewell, Horace, whom I hated so, 
Not for thy faults, but mine ! It is a curse 
To understand, not feel, thy lyric fiow. 
To comprehend, but never love thy verse." 

Horace is one of the more original of the Latin poets. He 
is a great lyric poet and a great critic, and preeminently a 
master of expression. Like most men of genius, he had but 
little faith in inspiration. As a literary artist he excels in 
simplicity and conciseness. His love odes are passionless ; they 
have been compared to flowers which though beautiful are 
odorless. While Virgil has many imitators, Horace has none. 
Some one has laid down the rule, by no means of universal 
application, that a poet is great in proportion as he is much 
quoted. This measure of greatness alone would magnify Hor- 
ace sufficiently. Though in many respects as a lyrical poet 
he is like Burns, and in dreamy brooding over peasant life 
suggests Gray, he never touches the popular heart as they 
do. He wrote about love coldly, and except in close inter- 
course with a few men, like Maecenas and Virgil, almost in- 
vites the sarcasm that has been pronounced upon Fontenelle, 
that "he had as good a heart as could be made out of l)rains." 
Horace was not over-confident concerning his oAvn abilities. 
The famous scholar, Julius Scaliger, a great admirer of Horace, 
said he would rather have written Ode I. of Book IV. than be 
king of Aragon. 



JMISCELLANEA 151 



It is iniaeeouiitable that the world should wait for a French- 
man of the 18th eentury to discover the beautiful in nature 
and embody in literature an expression of the sentiment. Such 
a revelation of feeling by Rousseau in his descriptions of Lake 
Geneva and its surroundings, has, it is believed, no just coun- 
terpart in writings of earlier times. Virgil barely hints at 
the beauty of natural scenery, where he represents yEneas 
entering the mouth of the Tiber at daybreak, and Horace in 
a similar mood alludes to "Tempe's leafy vale," and also to 
the excelling features of his Sabine farm, though in the latter 
case he may mean nothing more than its utilitarian aspect. 
Horace is constantly and persistently urging the necessity 
of moderation — the keeping of the happy golden mean in 
everything. Another favorite theme with him is the fleeting 
character of time. The end of his philosophy is the teaching 
of self-control. As a moralist he so far recognizes the veniality 
of men 's frailties, that he has been charged with a willingness 
to condone vice. As is usual with men, the older he grew, 
the more insistent he became upon the respect due to virtue. 
He inveighs against avarice, extols the good old times of pure 
living, and urges the practice of frugality. Enjoy the present 
is the beginning and the end of his philosophy. A few of 
his finest verses show that the bachelor poet emphasized rev- 
erence for the marriage tie. He believed that happiness must 
come from within, not from outward circumstances. Owing 
to his constantly impressing the lesson of contentment, Horace 
has been a most helpful preacher. He sees clearly that men 
are more strongly moved by ridicule than by censure. He 
shows up the well-nigh universal notions men have in regard 
to their own particular vocation, how each thinks his calling 
is more harassing than those of other people. Although in 
his teachings there breathes something of the Epicurean spirit, 
he is not strenuous for any system of philosophy. His creed 
may be epitomized in this: Conscious integrity is proof against 
all the changes of fortune; restrain passion; do not sacrifice 
the present in anticipation of the future; do not brood over 
M'hat others have more than you possess, but think how much 
of their possessions would be superfluous for you; live each 
day as if it were to be your last. 



152 MISCELLANEA 

The great poets have nut all been patriotic. Shakspeare, 
the greatest of all, is rather exceptional in that he had a 
decided patriotic bias, a characteristic Goethe lacked utterly. 
That Horace, who possessed less of the patriotic spirit than 
Virgil, was not wholly devoid of it, is evidenced in certain 
passages of his writings, especially in Ode 3, Book III., where 
he aims to dissuade Augustus from making Carthage instead 
of Rome the seat of government. Another instance is his 
description of Regulus's return to Carthage. It was a matter 
of great satisfaction and pride that he was called upon by 
Augustus to wTitc the Carmen Scculare. 

It has been not unusual for poets to find favor at court. 
No other, perhaps, ever enjoyed in this respect what Horace 
was favored with. His close relations with the great are, 
all things considered, without a parallel in the liiographies 
of literary men. Horace owed his social advancement orig- 
inally to Virgil, who recognized his rare gifts and introduced 
him to Maecenas, who in due time brought him to the notice 
of Octavius. It will thus ])e seen that, while destitute of the 
favoring influences of birth and Avealth, Horace came at length 
to adorn the first society of the Augustan age. His relations 
with Maecenas M^ere unique. After his introduction Maecenas 
waited nine months before taking any further notice of him. 
So strongly did Horace become attached to his great patron, 
that he even expressed a wish not to survive hinu The fact 
that Horace had no family made it easy for him to l)estoM' 
all his affection upon a brilliant coterie of distinguished men. 
He dedicated eight odes, four epodes, and three epistles to 
Maecenas. It is to the credit of Horace that he speaks eulo- 
gistically of the contemporary poets Pollio, Varius, and Virgil. 
The last mentioned he calls ''the best of friends and bards." 
How pretty the picture of the leisurely-taken journey to Brun- 
disium. at one stage of which Horace and Virgil take a quiet 
nap. Avhile the versatile ^Maecenas plays ball ! The standing 
Horace had with Augustus was, as has been said, something 
altogether exceptional. Owing to his close relations with him 
and with others of high position, he must have known many 
state secrets, which he discreetly kept to hinjself. Augustus 
knew a man when he saw one, and was quite competent to 



MISCELLANEA ] 53 

judge of a poet's merit. He urged Horace to become his 
priA'^ate secretary; but the poet declined the offer with inof- 
fensive grace. To be on such unusual terms with the great 
must have made Horace unpopular with those M^ho were so- 
cially less favored than himself. 

The poet was never in affluent circumstances. He even 
lost his little patrimonial estate, which in all likelihood was 
assigned to the soldiers of Augustus; nor was it ever returned 
to him. as was done in the case of Virgil. For several years 
after returning penniless from Greece, he had the rather mea- 
gre compensation dtn-ived from a Treasury clerkship. When 
he piiblislied his first book of satires. Maecenas gave him a 
Sabine farm situatetl about thirty miles north-east of Rome. 
This farm must have been of considerable size, as it recpiired 
a steward and eight slaves to manage it. The thing of great 
importance is, it gave the poet something like a competency 
and insured contentment and happiness. Some of his most 
charming literary work was inspired by this beneficence of 
Maecenas. Traces of this farm are still to be seen, and of 
late years it has been much visited hy cultivated English tour- 
ists; owing to which fact the neighboring people have come 
to think Horace must have been an Englishman. The poet's 
small property was left to Augustus. 

In the biography of a great man every little personal inci- 
dent is important. The bees settling on Pindar's lips will 
be recalled as a single instance in point. It is recorded of 
Horace that, when a child, he was lost among the hills, fell 
asleep, and was covered over with myrtle leaves by wood 
pigeons: also that when returning from Greece he came near 
being shipwrecked on the coast of Sicily ; and that once he 
barely escaped death from a falling tree. 

Maecenas died in the year 8 B. C. Horace, almost in exact 
fulfilment of a wish expressed seventeen years before, follov/ed 
him a few months later. They were buried near each other 
on the Es(|uiline Hill. 

Theodore Martin, in the preface to a life of Horace, says : 
"No writer of antiquity has taken a stronger hold upon the 
modern mind than Horace. The causes of this are manifold, 
but three may be especially noted — his l)r()ad human sympa- 



1 54 MISCELLANEA 

thies. his vigorous common sense, and his consummate mastery 
of expression."" Again the same writer says by way of ilhis- 
trating- liow the poet meets the wants of ^'arious■ natures: 
"Dante ranks him next to IIom<n-; ^lontaigne, as miglit he 
expected, knows him by heart: Feneh)n and Bossuel never 
weary of ([uoting him; La Fontaine polished Jiis oM'n exquisite 
styh' iipon his models : Voltaire calls him the l)est of ])reaeh- 
ers; Hooker (^scapes Avith him to the fields to seek oblivion 
of a hard life, made hardiM- by a shrewish spouse: Lord Ches- 
terfield tells us, 'When 1 talked my best I (juoted Horace:' 
to lioileau and to Wordsworth he is e((ually deai': ("ondorci^t 
dies in his dungeon with Horace open l)y his sitle : and in 
(xibbon's militia days, 'on every march," he says, 'in evei-y 
joui'ney. Horace was always in my pocket and oft(Mi in my 
hand." And so it has been, so it is. In many a pocket, where 
this might be least expected, lies a well-thrunbed Hoi'ace."" 



WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 

TllK (Mtunty of Warwick, often called the gardiMi, and 
sometimes the heart, of England, is sufficiently renown- 
ed for including within its limits Stratford-on-Avt)n. 
the birth-jilace. liouu\ and last resting place of the world "s 
greatest poet. 

Warwickshire, however, would not lacl'; renown. cAcn if 
Shakspeare had never lived. AVarwick Castle. Avith a pr(\sent 
grandeur not exceeded in Englaiul elsewhere, has its full share 
of historic glory: and Kenilworth, with its meagre suggestive 
ruins numtled with bewitching ivy and endoweii with endless 
fame by the Wizard of the North, draws annually thonsands 
of worshijiers from many lands. l>ut Warwickshire has. aside 
from Shaivspeare. even a greater distinction than ruins can 
give, that of ])roducing Gc^orge Eliot, perhaps the greatest 
intellect among women, and Walter Savage Landor. the prose- 
poet whose high claim to ])raise as a writer is only e(|ualed 
l)y his neglect. 

It has l)een said of Shakspeare: "He who has told us 
nu^st al)out ourselves, whose genius has made the whole world 
Idn. has told us nothing about himself." It was a great satis- 
faction to Tennvson to have the Avorld know so little of Shaks- 



MISCELLANEA 155 

peare. as he feared that a too familiar aeciuaintam-e with his 
life miy'ht lessen the esteem in whieh he is held. Still, some 
acquaintance with the personality of an author, even when 
his failing's are i)rominent. is essential to the apprecitition of 
his writings. 

FcAV authors have had so many innocent frailties as Lau- 
dor; l)ut in spite of them we are inclined both to love the 
man and i)raise the literary artist. Landor is [jreemincnt for 
his unpopularity both as a man and writer. In this doui)le 
aspect he stands extn^me among great men. \Vhile he has 
neither moi-e nor greater eerentricities than Carlyle, tiie latter 
is read by thousands wiicrc lu^ is i-ead by tens. 

in Landor 's nature, so far as it relates to social nitrr- 
course, there is almost everything to condemn ; but beneath 
all that appears disagreeable on the surface, he is so kind- 
hearted, so given to sympathizing with the weak and dis- 
tressed, so ready to stop on the hither side of malice and 
injury, that we are forced to admit that his failings e^er 
lean to virtue's side. It is natural to feel some tenderness 
for a man who loves his mother. Landor had a tender atfec- 
tion for his mother. AVhile she lived he corresponded with 
her regularly, and at her death was greatly affected, although 
he had not seen her for fifteen years. Landor ne\'er b-arned 
anything by experience in his intercourse with otheis : yet 
his writings generally show him the judicious man. This is 
Stedman's testimony regarding him: ""If he seldom did a 
wise thing, he seldom Avrote a foolish one." 

Landor's education lacked regularity, as might be expected 
from his great contradictoriness of chara<-ter. He <'ntered 
Rugl)y. the famous AVarwickshire school, at the age of ten 
and remained there ti\'e years. The sciences were distasteful 
to him. Although not versed in botanical Icnowledge. he loved 
tiowers passionately and wrote such exquisite things as the 
following about them: — 

"J never pluck the I'ose ; the violet's head 
Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank 
And not reproached me; the ever sacred cup 
Of the pure lily hath l>etween my hands 
Felt safe. nns^)il(Ml. noi" lost one grain of gold." 



15t) MISCELLANEA 

The t'lassies always M-ere his doli^ht. His Greek scholar- 
ship Avas less severe than his Latin. l)ul was snfficient to enable 
him to read Plato in the original. lie read the entire Odyssey 
in the original after his eighty-tit'th year. lie was not exactly 
expelled from Rugby, but his going away was in some manner 
the result of defying authority. He entered Trinity College, 
Oxford, at the age of eight(M'n. and. like Shelley, was expelled 
from that institution. Leigh Hunt ranked Landor next after 
Milton as an English-Latin scholar. His knowledge of Latin 
recalls what some epigrammatist has said of the scholarship 
of Valla, the famous Italian ecclesiastic of the fifteenth cen- 
tury, that since he went among the shades, Pluto himself has 
not dared to speak in the ancient languages. As an absorber 
of knowledge Landor was something remarkable. He relied 
too nnu'h upon the unaided memory and too little upon books 
always to secure desirable accuracy. He used to say he had 
one history he had read and another he had invented. He 
was unable to read slowly anything which delighted him. and 
Avhen about lo write alistained from reading for a long time. 
His memory Avas prodigious. Like most literary men of dis- 
tinction, he knew well at most but one language besides his 
own. He once said in regard to the literature which had influ- 
enced him: ''My sole felicity as a poet is this, that when I 
wrote Gebir I had not read any modern continental poetry 
except the Henriade of Voltaire, one tragedy of Corneille. and 
La Fontaine's Fables. Fresh from reading the Greek trage- 
dians and Pindar. Voltaire and ('orn(>ille were intolerable to 
me." 

Landor was decidedly eccentric in his tastes. Generally 
he made a judicious choice of characters for his Conversa- 
tions; but few of them, however, are women. He never cul- 
tivated a taste for works of art. but had a passion for buying 
bad pictures. He disliked the declamation of orators, and 
said he had never seen a play acted a dozen times in his life. 
As a maker of English blank verse it is conceded by good 
judges that he excels nearly all who preceded hiuL His range 
as a literary artist was almost boundless, from the heights 
of the epic and dramatic to the merest fragments of song; 
but he was incapable of sustained effort, such as is necessary 



MISCELLANEA If)? 

for the best epic and dramatic work. Stedman calls Landor 
the modern Greek, and awards him the honor of being instru- 
mental in restoring English verse to its classical elegance. 
His first forms of expression seldom needed returning to the 
anvil. His Latin poems, afterwards translated into English 
Hellenics, are of great beauty. He says of himself: "1 Avant 
dexterity, and never do anything right except in moments 
of great danger. Then instinct prevails." 

Of Landor 's artistic spirit and habits of work one may 
judge somewhat from his declaration that he would never 
publish a poem that contained any character of a human 
being, until he had lived with that character two or three 
years. He says: "I left Count Julian and his daughter twice 
because each had said things which other personages might 
say; the other characters are no characters at all. As to 
Gebir, I am certain that I rejected what almost every man 
would call the best part." He disliked composing verse within 
doors, except rarely in bed. He claimed to have written the 
better part of a tragedy in a concert room, and to have written 
a thousand lines of Count Julian in forty hours. In compos- 
ing he would work for four or five hours together after long 
walks. When engaged in new literary effort he quite forgot 
sorrow and grievances. He confirmed Avhat has been exper- 
ienced by so many w^riters, in declaring that it is hardly pos- 
sible to recover a lost thought "without breaking its wings." 
Some have thought it a great waste of time for Landor to 
have written Latin verses ; but without this practice he doubt- 
less never would have acquired that inimitable touch so char- 
acteristic of his English style. Of him, as of almost no one 
else, may it be said that he lived in the past. The following 
sayings of his show in some measure his ideas of w^hat influ- 
ences the labors of a literary man: "We often do very well 
every thing but the only thing we hope to do best of all."— 
"Pindar would not have written so exquisitely, if no fault 
had ever been found with him."— "We value things propor- 
tionally to the trouble they have given us in the acquisition." 
There are certain general characteristics of the man Lan- 
dor which are not to be overlooked. His impulses were gen- 
erous. Whenever he proposed publishing a book, he would 



] 58 MISCELLANEA 

give it out that the proceeds were to be l)estowecl in diMrity. 
It was in his nature to defy authority. He AA'as ^ixcii to a 
kind of Avaywardness of spirit and was too laekinii- in tlirift 
to keep intact his position as tirst in the entail of tlic family 
estates. With authors perhaps more than with any other class 
is what Shakspeare Avrote true: "The evil that men do lives 
after them." Landor's character had two marked extremes: 
the nol)ler is generally ignored : while the baser is kept con- 
stantly in view. His fitful shoAvs of misanthropy, bis unman- 
ageable and unreasonable anger, and his unpatriotic temper 
are kept in the foreground, and it is for these qualities almost 
exclusively that he is known ; while l)ut few take the trouble 
to note his reckless charity and ready responsiveness to the 
distress of men and nations. 

Landor's writings suffer in popular regard from his intle- 
l)endence in the choice of his subjects, although from the 
critic's point of view these subjects may not be uuAvisely 
chosen. Landor's fickleness was extreme. He desired a thing 
until it Avas attained, and Avas immediately disgusted Avitb it. 
Leigh Hunt epitomized his contradictoriness of character by 
likening him to a stormy mountain pine that should produce 
lilies. Except in the sphere of literary art Landor Avas ill- 
balanced everywhere. His absent-mindedness was remarkable. 
On several occasions he had forgotten the key to his port- 
manteau, and in his efforts to break himself of the habit he 
Avas not successful, as Avas made manifest on one occasion 
when h(^ appeared flourishing the key triumphantly in his 
hand; but then it appeared he had forgotten the portman- 
teau. In regard to his personal appearance he AAas far from 
fastidious, and at times Avas so Avretchedly dressed that the 
servants took him for a beggar. He Avas. ncA'crtheless. of a 
distinguished appearance, physically Avell formed, of medium 
size, and had an engaging smile. LaAvyers Avere the objects 
of his hatred, and he heartily detested clergymen. If immod- 
erately tyrannical and rebellious, he Avas no hypocrite. In 
peeAHsh fits he Avould rudely repel the courteous advances of 
worthy people, although himself oA'er-sensitive and i-eady to 
take ott'ense at the least cause. His priA'ate disputes and 
laAvsuits remind one of the American novelist Cooper, tbough 



MISCELLANEA 15!) 

till' latter was a man of the soundest jiidgniciil and was almost 
always from a legal standixtint technically I'ight. As a rule 
Laiidor was chivalrous to all women except his own wife. 
Of nuisic he was passionately fcuid. and he IoV(mI solitude, 
('at'lyle said of him: "Landor's prineiples are mei'e rebel- 
lion.'" Disraeli (Mice remarked eonc(n'ning' him; ' ^'ou will 
he read hereafter." In his walks liand(n- ohjeded to com- 
pany, as it disturbed his thinking. 

Landor sliow^ed his excessive egotism in no way more clear- 
ly than in writing to please himself only, lie at least seemed 
to have contempt for fame, while implicity believing that lu? 
was to "'dine late." "As a writer and as a man." he said. 
"I know my station. If 1 found in the world five equal to 
myself. 1 would Avalk out of it. not to be jostled." But his 
egotism was not vain. He did nothing for mere effect. Much 
as he held the criticisms of the vulgar in contempt, he con- 
fessed that if the foolish had read Gebir. he should still have 
continued to write poetry, saying that "there is something 
of summer in the hum of insects." In some of his Conver- 
sations he causes himself to appear promimnitly. If ten men 
of taste in all P]ngland would praise Gel)ir. he said he would 
be satisfied. De Quincey facetiously limited the number to 
two. In writing his drama of Antony and Octavius he had 
the presumption to follow Shakspeare's footsteps. He regret- 
ted his ignorance of the German language, wishing to be able 
to compare himself with Goethe, to whom some kindly dis- 
posed critic had likened him. Landor has said of himself: 
■"1 shall dine late, but the dining room will be well lighted, 
the guests few and select." He was cnidently thinking of 
himself Avhen he wrote: "There an^ writings which nnist lic^ 
long uj)on the straw before they mellow to the taste, and 
ther(^ are summer fruits Avhich caiuiot abide the keej)ing." 
Landor was proud of haA'ing been boi-n on the Avon, and 
immortalized the fact in these famous lines fi-om Gebir: — 

"I drank of Avon too. a dangerous di-;iuglit. 
That I'oused within the feverish thirst of song." 

Even Shakspeare might d('vn\ it an lu)nor that his native 
WarAvickshire has produced Landoi- and George Eliot, writers 



ItiU MISCELLANEA 

SO worthy to form witli him a Warwicksliire literary trio. 
At school and college Landor could never be induced to com- 
pete for a prize. He was the first stiuh'ut at Oxford to 
wear his hair without powder, showii)i>' in tliis his rcpuldic.iii 
tendencies. 

At one tiuic. when he had become thoroughly disgusted 
with England, Landor was disposed to make his residence 
in France. So long as Napoleon shoAved anti-despotic ten- 
deiuMcs. Landor sympathized Mith him, showing his luitred 
of royalty in such language as this: "Kingsliip," he says. 
"is a profession which has produced few among the most 
illustrious, many among the most (l('si)i(';ible. of the hunum 
race.'' In his likes and dislikes Landor was strikingly incon- 
sistent. He would praise America Mud Uonaparte. and in 
almost the same breath denounce both. He would s;iy : "1 
detest the Americans; but the Americans speak our language: 
thej^ read Paradise Lost." Though denouncing everything 
Italian, he was proud of his possessions and sui-roundings 
in Italy, where he lived tlie greatei' part of his active life. 
At Florence he writes: "Look from my window. That cot- 
tage on the declivity was Dante's. Thei-e A\'as the first scene 
of Boccaccio's Decameron. What must I think of a city where 
Michaelangelo and Macchiavelli were secondary men! And 
certainly such were they, if we compare them with Galileo, 
Boccaccio and Dante." At Fiesole. near Florence, Landor 
at one time OAvned a villa which had been built by Michael- 
angelo. From 1836 to 1857 Landor lived rath(n- quietly at 
Bath, on the other English Avon, the only city in the world 
except Florence he thought fit for r(>sidence. For some libel- 
ous publication he w^as compelled to quit England again, and 
consequently he made Florence his home until the time of 
his death in 1864. During the last six years of his four 
score and ten Robert Browning and the Storys were liis kind 
neighbors. 

In 1802 Landor saw Napoleon, now consul for life, having 
gone to Paris for the express purpose. In 1808 he was in 
Spain desiring to serve in the Spanish army as a private 
soldier. It was his boast that he was the first English vol- 
unteer to go to the assistance of the Spaniards. King Ferd- 



MISCELLANEA l(jl 

dinand bestowed upon him the honorary title of Colonel. He 
liked the Spaniards, saying that idle people are not rapacious. 
In 1826 he visited Rome, where both the native population, 
as Mcll as the English, showed him marked attention. 

At the ag(^ of :^6 Laudor married a young Swiss girl with- 
out fortune ; their conjugal life was most unhappy, owing 
chiefly to his discordant temperament. He had the rather 
unique theory that an excellent wife is in part the creation 
of the husband after marriage, not seeming to realize that 
the converse theory is quite as true, that a good husband 
is in part the creation of the wife after marriage. A son 
was l)()rn to him in 1818, when Landor was 43 years ohl, 
and three other children subsequently. For his children when 
j^oung his love was strong, and he could not endure having 
them long out of his sight. Once when in Rome he wrote 
to liis little son Arnold: "I shall never be quite happ>' until 
I sec you again and put my cheek upon your head." In 
alluding to his wife's taunting remarks about the inequality 
of their ages, Landor said: "She never was aware that more 
can be said in one minute than can be forgotten in a life time." 

Landor 's neglect in Elngland is easily accounted for. About 
all that can be found there to remind one of him is in War- 
wick — the house where he was born, inscribed Avith his name 
and birthdate. 1775, and his bust in St. Mary's Cathedral in 
the same town. The fact is, that, in season and out of st^a- 
son, Landor unceasingly expressed his detestation of England, 
being one of the most unpatriotic men to be found in all 
history. Royal England has in a measure forgiven Cromwell 
and Milton, but then they never forgot that they were Eng- 
lishmen. England was powerful and to Landor seemed op- 
pressive. By nature he sided with the weak. Wlien Napo- 
leon becanu' tyranni(;al. Landor espoused the cause of Spain. 
Just as naturally he favored the American Colonies. He pro- 
nounced Washington. Timoleon, and Phocion the three most 
renowned patriots, and observed that their names all termi- 
nate in on. His chief grievance against England was, that 
her laws had not protected him in the possession of his prop- 
erty. He called her a country where a man would be ruined 
by pursuing his rights. In his political views he was both 



Iti'J MISCELLANEA 

iiicoiislHiit iitid inconsistent. Sonic one has declared him to 
he •'fitted to h<'long to a party of one, and a party allowing 
itself iiifinile \ariety of change." Sontliey told Lander that 
in fil'ly years America wonld petitiorj to be received back 
iiild the family. '1\) Southey he once wrote: "I do not agree 
\\illi yon about Honaparte ; I hate him; 1 execrate him: but 
! detest our own government worse." Of the French he re- 
marked: 'The fewer Frenchmen there are in the world, the 
happiei- will the world -be." 

( )f fi-iendship Landor Avrote : "Friendship is a vase which 
when it is flawed by heat or violence or accident, may as 
well be broken at once. Coarse stones, if they are fractured. 
may be cemented again, precious ones, never." Emerson said 
he crossed the Arlantic to see four faces, those of Words- 
worth, Landor. Coleridge, and ('arlyle. De Quincey greatly 
angered Landor by making an allusion to his hery radicalism 
of sp(>ech and by describing him as a man intended l)y nature 
to be a leader in storms, a martyr, or an arch rebel, but 
whom the accident of too much Avealth had turned into a 
solitary unsympathizing exih'. Jn an hour, the only time 
Uiey vwr met, Landor and Charles Lamb became fast friends. 
Southey and Wordsworth he visited at their homes amid the 
English Lakes. He once rather too significantly remarked to 
Wordsworth, that prose will bear a great deal more of poetry 
than poeti'y will bear of prose. Emerson said Landor was 
strang(4y undervalued in England, a fact patent enough at 
the pi'esent day. Laudor included Southey and Coleridge 
among his tew fast friends, the former being perhaps the 
dearest he ever had. Landor realized at times his infelicity 
in the way of friendship, saying that whoevei- came near him 
was either unhappy or ungrateful. 

Walter Savage Landor belongs to that class of writers who 
divide their efforts b(»tween poetry and prose. This class, so 
necessary to the complete rounding out of literature, contains 
such (-(debrated names as Cervantes. Milton. Scott. Coleridge, 
and Addison, and the less renowned, but yet highly worthy 
ones, Poe. Lowell, llolmes, and Stedman. Li Landor 's esti- 
mation iio writer of florid prose was ever more than a sec- 
ondary poet. Stedman, to the contrary, says a real poet 
usually wi-ites good prose. This, at any rate, is certain, lit- 



MISCELLANEA 1 G3 

erature would be the loser if any one of the names in the 
foregoing list were missing. 

In speaking of Landor tlie literary man we ninst first 
speak of him as a poet, althongh the little popularity he 
enjoys is almost wholly due to his prose writings. ]\Ir. Sted- 
man. in his essays on the Vietorian Poets, gives Landor pre- 
eedenee in the hook in point of time, allowing him the dis- 
tinction of belonging to two periods and of being, as it were, 
the link that joins in literary England the eighteenth and 
the nineteenth eentnries. In a rather fragmentary way Lan- 
dor touched nearly all the notes of the poetic gamut, and 
with the distinctness and certainty of a master. — the epic, 
the dramatic, and the miscellaneons. Like Shelley, he is a 
poet of poets. It is extremely rare to find any one who reads 
his verse. His epic Gebir, written at the early age of 22. 
Avhether considered artistically or ethically, has the poetic 
stamp as nnmistakable as that of Paradise Ijost ; bnt it is 
of undignified brevity, and in other respects fails of the con- 
ditions essential to success. Epics, like miracles, seem to have 
gone out of date. Stedman pronounc(\s Tennyson's Idyls of 
the King an epic of chivalry, and the only successful epic 
of 200 years. The plot and the story of Gebir are taken 
from an Arabian tal(\ The author's object in writing it was 
to stigmatize the spirit of conquest. It is a poem not readily 
understood and needs several re-readings to catch its true 
(juality. To most readers it is at first distasteful. l)ecause 
it is so thoroughly boiled down and its lines so overloaded 
with thought. Both natural and supernatural characters are 
employed in it. It comprises seven books and has 2,000 lines. 
Among other characteristic beauties it contains the famous 
shell passage, which both Wordsworth and Byron imitated 
unhappily. This passage occurs in the conversational prelude 
to the wrestling match between Tamar and the sea-nymph. 
In reply to Tamar 's proposal to wager a sheep sh(^ offers a 
shell and describes it in this beautiful language: 

"But 1 hav(^ sinuous shells of pearly hue; 

Shake one and it awakens, then apply 

Its polished lips to your attentive ear. 

And it remembers its august abodes. 

And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there." 



164: MISCELLANEA 

Laiidor follows other epics in allowing his hero a deseent 
to the shades. Instead of invoking an infernal river he grace- 
fully and with conscious pride pays a tribute to Shakspeare 
and the xVvon, the favored stream of his native Warwick. To 
perfect the poem after it was once written, Landor condensed 
it, making it less intelligible to the general reader. Southey, 
by praising this poem in the Critical Review, established a 
life-long friendship with its author. 

Landor 's tendency in poetry, as it was in prose also, was 
in the direction of the dramatic. In his tragedy Count Julian 
he depicts the last of the Gothic kings of Spain, one of the 
grandest tragic conceptions imaginable. Entailed retribution 
for sin is here as vividly portrayed as it is in the House of 
Seven Gables. In this drama Landor as a poet reaches his 
highest point. Here, as in Gebir, the fault is in excess of 
meaning. This drama has very properly been called a verse- 
dialogue. It is of so great merit that Julius Hare thought 
it raised its author to a height where his work might bear 
some little comparison to the Avritings of Shakspeare and 
Sophocles. A close study of this tragedy, such as a literary 
society might give to Othello or the Antigone, would reward 
ethical and artistic research abundantly. Mr. Crump, the ed- 
itor of Landor 's poems, says: "Just as Gebir reads like the 
first work of an epic poet, Count Julian seems to promise 
the world a great tragedian. No one but a great dramatist 
could have written this drama ; a less than Landor might 
have written his others." While Landor \s poetic fragments 
and some of his dramas, like Antony and Octavius, have high 
jiierit, Gebir and Count Julian are his poetic master-pieces : 
Init, alas! tliey are not enough to constitute their author a 
great poet. None of Landor 's poems have l)ecome household 
Avords. In this he lacks the felicity of many inferior contem- 
poraries. His poems are sometimes obscure, as Browning's 
almost always are, but have fewer of the lightning flashes 
of genius which at times raise Browning to the first rank. 
The following excerpt from C'ount Julian shows a single in- 
stance of his poetic elegances. It is a reply of Opas to Roder- 
igo, prophesying a sudden and violent death, and is worthy 
of Homer: — 



MISCELLANEA 165 

"Ne'er will the peace and apathy of age 
Be thine, or twilight steal upon thy day." 

in his Antony and Oetavius Landor represents Cleopatra, 
after their flight at Aetium, as trying to assure Antony of 
happier days to come, when Antony replies : — 

"Never; when those so high once fall, their weight 
Keeps them forever down." 

It can be safely asserted that this drama contains more 
tine things which Shakspeare might have written than any 
equal amount of modern poetry by any other dramatic author. 

Among his numerous shorter poems and epigrams, although 
they occasionally contain gems, there is not one that is pop- 
ularly known. Even Rose Aylmer, much lauded by critics, 
no one knows by heart. Landor 's poetical works, like Words- 
worth's, contain much that is valueless. He wrote upon 
many insignificant themes, and sometimes insignificantly up- 
on a great subject, as in the case of a fragment of three 
lines only on Shakspeare. p]ven while at Rugby his Latin 
verse Avas of such excellence that he often obtained by it a 
holiday for the boys. He wrote 10,000 Latin heroic verses, 
a measure he never tried in English, as Longfellow has done 
in Evangeline. 

Conversation writers, as a class, are of more than common 
interest. The really great ones are so few as to be counted 
on the fingers of one hand. The original writer of this kind, 
the one from whom the others have copied, is the Syrian 
Greek Lucian, of the second century of our era. In his Dia- 
logues of the Gods and Dialogues of the Dead he displays 
wit, satire, and acuteness of thinking, as Avell as the choic- 
est style and diction. He has been called the greatest prose 
satirist of antiquity. This is Landor 's sententious dictum 
concerning Plato: "Certainly there was never so much elo- 
(luence with so little animation. When he has heated his 
oven, he forgets to put the bread into it; instead of which 
he throws in another bundle of faggots." Lord Lyttelton. 
the contemporary and friend of Fielding, like Landor. wrote 
dialogues in imitation of Lucian. So did Rabelais. Pontenelle, 
und La Fontaine. A single bric^f sentence shows Lord Lyttle- 



l(i(i MISCELLANEA 

ton's felicity in clcgaut aphoi'isnis : ""Wit is like grace; it 
must come from al)ove. " He, as Avell as Landor. pays his 
respects to William l^enn. likening' him to Solon, the wise 
laAV-giver of (xrcMM-e. 

Landor's re[)utation as an author rests chielly upon his 
lmagi!iar>- ( 'omcrsatious, which contain some of the choicest 
prose in 1h<' whole range of English literature. Often the 
seiitiuieiits he puts into the mouths of his colloquists are col- 
ored by his ow]i whims and prejndices. in the hi'st volume, 
containing classical dialogues, he introduces such distinguished 
characters as Achilles. Helen. Solon. .'Esoj), Xerxes, Sopho- 
cles. Plato. XenophoiL .Mcihiades. Demosthenes, Alexander, 
Aristotle. Hainiihal. Scipio. ('aesai-. Cicero. Virgil. Horace, 
and LuciaiL In other volumes he |)resents himself. Southey, 
Washington. Franklin, Peini, (Uiestertield, ChathanL ^lahomet, 
Sir Philip Sidney, and \)r. Johnson. Xapoleon is conspicuous 
by his absence from the Conversations. Landor almost apol- 
ogizes for daring to introduce into his dialogues, not only 
such distinguished 6olloquists as Demosthenes. Cicero, and 
Bacon, but even Shakspeare. in compurison with whom he 
calls the others cradled infants. He told Southey he Avas 
frightened when he reflected that he had presumed to make 
Shakspeare talk in a dialogue, as he had done in the Citation 
for Deer-Stealing. Critics declare that in one of his Con- 
versations Landor causes Cicero to say things wdiich. if said 
by Cicero himself, would have enhanced his praise. P^merson 
calls Landor "one of the foremost of that small class Avho 
make good in the nineteenth century the claims of pure lit- 
erature," and declares that for 20 years the Conversations 
were his resource in solitude. He also says of him. as was 
said of Socrates, that "many of his sentences are cid>es. whicli 
w^ll stand firm, place them how or where you w^ill." 

Between the y(^ars 1884 and 1887. while living at Fiesole. 
Landor i)ul)lished thrcH' remarkable books, his choicest prose 
works, the Pentameron. the CitatioiL and Pericles and As])asia. 
So extraoidiiUH'y is the literary quality of these pi-ochictions 
that it almost amounts to sacrilege to discuss them. This is 
pi*eeminently the case with Pericles and Aspasia. .Vbout this 
find the Pentameron tlierc^ is but one opinion; they are at 



MI.-CELLANEA lti( 

high water mark in English i>rose. and are completely satis- 
fying to tlT,e most eritieal taste. They never bring satiety. 
The I'entameron. as li;is been said, was Avritten at Fiesole 
near Florence, where Lantlor owned tlu^ grounds on which 
Hoceaccio had laid the scene of the famous Decameron. It 
is ;i i\y(' (Uiys' conversation held by Boccaccio and I'etrarch 
on Dante. Petrarch is nuuh^ to say: "Little more than a 
tentli ol' the Decameron is bad; less than a twentieth of the 
Divine Comedy is good." The tender relation existing l)e- 
tween Dante and Beatrice is exquisitely shown when he says: 
■'It is there where I shall have caught the first glimpse of 
you again that I wish all my portion of Paradise to ])e assigned 
me." The Citation of William Shakspeare foi* Deei'-Stealing. 
which has been lavishly praised by Charles Lamb, is not uni- 
forndy praised. Land) said of it: "Only two men could ha\c 
written it. he who wrote it and the man it Avas written al)out." 
Nearly every great writer has shown an altogether unwar- 
I'anted enthusiasm for some particular work or author. So 
Tluudveray praised the American Cooper above Scott. So Lan- 
dor himself, under the stimulus of personal friendship. i)raised 
Dickens too highly. The Citation one must read at least tlii-cr 
times before disappointment wears away and its real merit 
appears. As Landor makes the youthful Shakspeare discourse 
before Sir Thomas Lucy, one thinks of Christ arguing in the 
temple before the doctors. Lantior's biographer. Mr. Forster, 
says of the Citation: "Nothing has been written about Shaks- 
p<'are so worthy of surviving." The unfavorable criticism 
evoked by the obscure language of the Citation does not apply 
to Landor 's prose in general. In this he has an advantage 
over Browning, nearly all of whose long poems are at tirst 
difficult to read understandingly. But Landor 's masterpiece 
is unquestionably Pericles and Aspasia. In this volume, in- 
stead of a conversation, the epistolary method of communi- 
cation is used. The letters end in the third year of the Pel- 
oponnesian AVar. The characters, thoughts, and actions in the 
book Landor declares to be all fictitious. He says that ''Peri- 
cles was somewhat less amiable. Aspasia somewhat It^ss ^•irtu- 
t)us ; Alcil)iades somewhat less sensitive." The last lettt'r of 
Pericles to Aspasia n(^ar the (Mid of the ])ook. gives in language 



168 MISCELLANEA 

of genuine eloquence remiuiseences of the great statesman's 
life, and is a remarkable resume of the Age of Pericles. 

A few of Landor's aphorisms will here be given, to show 
his happiness in thought and expression. 

"Brief danger is the price of long security." 

"Is it not in philosophy as in love, the more we have of 
it, and the less we talk about it, the better?" 

"There is no falsehood but whose features are composed 
to the semblance of truth." 

"The very beautiful rarely love at all." 

"Few will allow the first to be first; but the second and 
third are universal favorites." 

"Tears do not dwell long upon the cheeks of youth. Rain 
drops easily from the bud, rests on the bosom of the maturer 
flower, and breaks down that one which hath lived its day." 

"Love always makes us better. Religion sometimes. Power 
never. ' ' 

"Wholesome is the wisdom that we have gathered from 
misfortune. ' ' 

"Time softens rocks and hardens men." 

"Enough of sunshine to enjoy the shade." 

"We are what suns and winds and waters make us; 
The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills 
Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles." 

"Those who are not quite satisfied are the benefactors of 
the world." 

"It is the nature of impudence never to be angry." 

"The heart that has once been bathed in love's pure foun- 
tain, retains the pulse of youth forever." 

"I never was one of those Avho wish for ice to slide upon 
in summer." 

"The vices of some men cause the virtues of others." 

"Solitude is the audience chamber of God." 

"The recollection of a thing is frequently more pleasing 
than the actuality." 

"It is man and wife the first fortnight, lint wife and man 
ever after." 

Landor shows no appreciation of humor either in his own 
writings or in his criticisms of others. Yet he discriminates 



MISCELLANEA 169 

finely between wit and humor. His criticisms upon the writ- 
ings of others are too often influenced by his personal rela- 
tions to them. or. in the case of the dead, by hastiness of 
judgment. H(^ thought Tennyson's Morte d' Arthur more 
Homeric than any other poem of our time. Whatever in 
itself is excellent in poetry he considered to be best 'in blank 
verse, but that everything below excellence borrows some- 
thing from rhyme. He calls Spenster flimsy and fantastic, 
and. strange to say. Chaucer a passably good novelist, but 
liardly to be called a poet. Truly, good writers may be bad 
critics. Landor may, if he pleases, talk of "the insipidities 
of C'ato." but Addison's prose is quite equal to his own. To 
his mind the sonnet is unsuited to the genius of our language, 
though Wordsworth thought differently. It was Landor 's be- 
lief that between good poetry and excellent there is a greater 
difference than between the bad and the good. He admired 
Ovid, but had too low an opinion of Horace. It was his opin- 
ion, that experience makes us more sensible of faults than 
of l)eauties. The most complicated of the ancient metres he 
regarded less difficult to manage than English blank verse. 
It annoyed him to think that there are no modern tragedies. 
Of America's greatest patriot he wrote: "1 believe Wash- 
ington to excel both in political and military wisdom all men 
except Gustavus Adolphus. Surely never had human being 
such difficulties to overcome: he is the greatest hero in the 
noble galaxy; he had a large hand, which is an excellent 
sign. Assassins have small hands. Napoleon had a small 
hand." Comparing the two greatest English poets, he says: 
■'A rib of Shakspeare would make a Milton; the same por- 
tion of Milton all poets born ever since." Through the mouth 
of one of his conversationalists he expresses himself in this 
manner in regard to the fine arts: "If there are paces between 
Sculpture and Painting, there are parasangs between Paint- 
ing and Poetry. Sculpture and Painting are moments of life ; 
Poetry is life itself." His flattering allusions to Shakspeare 
are quite as numerous as Shakspeare 's admirers could wish. 
The most extravagant is to the effect that "Shakspeare not 
only keeps poetry alive, but Christianity, because when ])eople 
see one inspired man. they may believe that there may have 



170 MISCELLANEA 

been another." In Lander's estimation literary composition 
may be too adorned even for beauty. He had a high opinion 
of Rogers, the banker-poet, thought Milton a greater poet 
than Homer, praised Ben Jonson's pure English, called Keats 
our Ariel of poetry, Scott our Prospero, and said Swift's Tale 
of a Tub" was a work he had read oftener than any other 
prose work in our language. At Como he and Southey dis- 
cussed the probable duration of Byron's popularity and the 
rising fame of Wordsworth, whose poetry he pronounced stu- 
pendous. He declared that Wordsworth's language (a rare 
thing) is English. In his judgment La Fontaine is the only 
Frenchman who knows when he has said enough. He praised 
in an extravagant manner ^Irs. Browning's Aurora Leigh. 
For some reason Landor disliked Mackintosh, though Macau- 
lay said of him: "1 generally find that I learn something 
when talking with Mackintosh." It is related that Dr. Parr 
once said, after an argument with Mackintosh: ''Jemmy, I 
cannot talk you down, but 1 can think you down, Jemmy." 
Landor declared that Dr. Johnson had put into his Lives of 
the Poets several whose productions would hardly gain ad- 
mittance into the corner of a provincial newspaper. If Gray's 
Elegy had been written in another metre, he thought it would 
not be the most admired poem in existence. Among the an- 
cient poets he gives Pindar the second place. Virgil he rates 
low, and calls his ^neas a wooden liero. He disliked Racine, 
as he did the French generally. Franklin, Locke, and Alfieri 
were rated high by him, as also were Keats, Shelley, and Mrs. 
Jameson. He preferred Fox to Grattan and Pitt, enjoyed 
reading Hazlitt, as every one must do, but thought Coleridge, 
as a critic, worth fifty of him. He considered Catullus, La 
Fontaine, and Sophocles the writers having the fewest faults : 
and once more he calls Shakspeare the greatest work of God's 
creation. This of Robert Browning: "Few of the Athenians 
had such a quarry on their property, but they constructed 
better roads for the conveyance of their material." It seemed 
to Landor wonderful that a book so popiilar as Robinson Cru- 
soe has nothing in it to cause one to laugh or cry. 

If. as De QuiiK-ey thought, Landor 's reputation rests upon 
a reputation for not being read, the reason for this may be 



MISCELLANEA 171 

found in Landor's own declaration, that "those who have 
the longest wings have the most difBculty in mounting," and 
because his writings are, as some one has characterized them, 
like a scientific piece of music, which gains by repetition. As 
the natural ear must first be trained before it can catch the 
richest harmonies, so the mind must have submitted to severe 
and prolonged discipline and study before it can be touched 
to admiration by what is divinest in poetry. It is true, the 
continued poring over the works of a favorite author becomes 
in the end too much akin to worship to alloM' freedom for 
the critic's office, since to a mind given up to adoration even 
defects seem beauties. To the trained mind, however, there 
must be something of preeminent worth in an author to awak- 
en and sustain this ecstasy. No one who has once been under 
the spell of Landor is ever afterwards freed from the charm. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. , 

LESS than a century ago American literature hardly de- 
served the name. Our three favorite poets, Longfellow, 
Bryant, and Whittier, were unknown to fame, and our 
pioneer prose writers, Irving and Cooper, had little more than 
begun to lay the foundations on which to build their literary 
monuments, monuments which are daily reconsecrated by a 
discriminating taste. At so recent a period, and while yet the 
idea of reading an American book was regarded as absurd, 
and while publishers were reluctant to take the financial risk 
of bringing out the works of any but trans-Atlantic authors, 
Nathaniel Hawthorne was committing to the flames his re- 
jected manuscripts, and disheartened by his own doubts re- 
garding his abilities, as well as by the cool treatment of unap- 
preciative friends, was nigh succumbing and denying to the 
world some of the choicest prose fiction that time has treas- 
ured up. 

It is more difficult to classify prose writers than poets. 
Placing in the first class of poets Homer, Dante, and Shaks- 
peare ; in the second Goethe, Chaucer. Spenser, Milton, Words- 
worth, Browning, Virgil, and a few others of the best among 



1(2 MISCELLANEA 

European writers, ancient and modern, a nniltitude of delight- 
ful singers may be included in tiie third, leaving a necessary 
fourth class, numerous but inconsequential. To classify prose 
writers at all, it is iirst necessary to divide them with regard 
to nature of subject; placing in one division the historians, 
in another the essayists, in another the novelists, the philo- 
sophical writers in a fourth, and so on. The classifying of 
one of these sub-divisions, so various are their excellences, 
is indeed difficult. A writer of merit, be he prose-writer or 
poet. Avill b(^ something more than a story-teller, a recorder 
of historic events, or a versifier; he will be possessed of a 
native richness of mind, and, in a marked degree, of invention. 
Carlyle says of Shakspeare. "One knows not what he could 
not have made in the supreme degree." P.very man of genius 
has strong mental possibilities undeveloped and incidental, yet 
hardly less extraordinary than those exhibited in liis chosen 
field. A man's test of greatness, then, lies partly in his ability 
to do something outside his routine exercise of skill. There 
are. it is tmu'. a few literary geniuses ill-shaped and abnor- 
mally brilliant, as was Goldsmith, who "wrote like an angel 
but talked like poor poll." 

Nathaniel Hawthorne is a writer of prose fiction. l)ut of 
no ortlinary type. Less read than scores of American and 
Eui'0])ean ■\^ riters. he has. notwithstanding, a certain choice 
literary (luality which discriminating readers declare to l)e 
unsurpassed. This is Ijowell's estimate of his modest merit: 

"There is Hawthorne, with genius so shrinking and rare. 
That you hardly at first see the strength that is there." 

Others have created gr(^ater and more imperishable charac- 
ters; such characters are. — Sterne's Fncle Toby. Goldsmith's 
Dr. Primrose. Fielding's Amelia, Thackeray's Becky Sharp, 
and Cooper's Leatherstocking. Others, too. have surpassed 
him in excellence of plot. George Sand being a conspicuous 
example of such. Still there is a superiority, not easily de- 
fined, about our gifted American author which few of these 
possess. A similar observation applies to George Eliot. Some- 
body surpasses her in nearly every point of excellence recog- 
nized as peculiar to th(^ novelist ; yet in the background of 



MISCELLANEA 173 

her literary gifts the reader discovers aii intellectual some- 
thing, a native mental strength and philosophical insight, 
which even Thackeray, Balzac, and Scott, the greatest of 
novelists, were incapable of exhibiting. The trend of Haw- 
thorne's mind is best understood by studying the subjects of 
his works, none of which are of the stereotyped character 
common in fiction. It was the boast of Swift that he n(iver 
stole even a hint from any other writer. Hawthorne might 
as justly make the same claim. 

Hawthorne's Note Books, — American, English, French, and 
Italian, are helpful in getting at the real character of the 
man. They mirror his mind as it was day after day and 
year after year. In the earliest of these diaries are discov- 
ered unmistakable germs of what at length ripened in the 
Scarlet Letter. Marble Faun, and Septimius Felton. — each the 
thinking out of an intricate problem of life. It is no small 
compliment to Hawthorne that Poe spoke highly of his cre- 
ative faculty, imagination, and originality. One, in reading 
Hawthorne, is constantly meeting striking thoughts and ele- 
gant expressions which bear the marks of genius. Never- 
theless it is difficult to catch and depict his subtle workman- 
ship. Too much importance should not be placed upon the 
fact that Hawthorne is not a popular author. Sometinu^s 
the most meritorious books are little read. AValter Savage 
Landor and Charles Lamb are among the finest writers of 
English ; and yet they are by no means popular authors. 
Like them, also. Hawthorne wrote too critically to write vo- 
luminously. Generally Hawthorne excluded from his writings 
hideous characters. The first book he wrote after leaving 
college he burned 'v^ithout publishing. As a writer he was 
essentially an artist, though he had no great confidence in 
his own powers. His efforts at poetry did not rise above 
mediocrity. His skill in using the supernatural has been 
compared to that of Scott and George Sand. He uses words 
of Latin origin to a great extent. His first stories were short 
— in fact, he never wrote long ones. Motley, in a letter to 
Hawthorne, said, "Nobody can write English but you." In 
only one of his books does he prominently introduce dumb 
animals. He never wrote except when the mood was on. 



174 MISCELLANEA 

Some one has estimated Hawthorne by the algebraic equa- 
tion: "Poe + Irving + an unknown quantity =■ Hawthorne." 
He took none of his characters from real life ; each was a 
compound of elements found in various characters. Haw- 
thorne's works comprise five novels and a fragment of a 
sixth, five volumes of short tales, several volumes of sketches 
or note books, and three story books for children. Henry 
James says: "In the field of letters Hawthorne is the most 
valuable example of the American genius, — a master of ex- 
pression;" but that "to appreciate him one must be acquainted 
with New England. ' ' 

In alluding briefiy to the different productions of Haw- 
thorne, the Note Books will first claim attention. The Amer- 
ican Note Books are much like an ordinary diary, covering 
a period of eighteen years, from the time Hawthorne Avas 
thirty-one years old until his departure for Liverpool, to which 
place he had been appointed consul by his friend and college- 
mate, President Pierce. These eighteen years include the last 
two of his twelve unproductive years, (in a sense the most 
productive of his life, for during all this time he was sub- 
mitting himself to the rigid discipline so essential to his after 
attainments), the time in which he wrote Twice Told Tales, 
Scarlet Letter, and House of Seven Gables, and also his ex- 
perience in the custom house and at Brook Farm. It is 
alleged with some force by Mr. James, that Hawthorne's writ- 
ings bear too much the stamp of provincialism ; that his lack 
of experience disqualified him for the greatest accomplishments 
in his line ; that his limited provincial experience was pre- 
judicial to him as an author, very much as has been declared 
to be the case with Robert Burns, who, in addition to pro- 
vincial restrictions, wrote in a dialect instead of a language. 
One of the most striking characteristics of the American Notes 
is the inner light issuing from the writer's intellect, disclos- 
ing his habits of observation and reflection. Nothing escaped 
him. He was known to sit for hours in some retired corner 
of a bar-room. Avatching and studying the varied phases of 
character about him. Happy thoughts, dropped at random ])y 
obscure persons, were treasured up by him with keen interest. 
But his own (piiet reflections are the charm of all his diaries. 



MrSCELLANEA 175 

Though Hawtlionie was tio professed philosoplier. hardly any 
great life i)roblem eseaped his attention. Notice soiiit' speci- 
men saj'ings of his taken at random from the Note Hooks: 
"We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of wak- 
ing from a troubled drc^am : it may be so the moment after 
death. A singular fact, that when num is a brute he is the 
most sensual of all brutes. Trifles to one are nuitters of life 
and death to another; as, for instance, a farmei- desires a 
brisk breeze to winnow Ills grain, and mariners, to blow them 
out of the reach of pirates. Nobody will use other people's 
experience, nor has any of his own till it is too late to use 
it. What we need for our happiness is close at hand if we 
but knew how to seek for it." He was much given to mor- 
alizing, not only upon what occurred around him, but also 
upon historical incidents, often seeing a truth or principle 
in what was a mere nothing to less gifted natures. He sees 
a drove of pigs passing at dusk, and immediately this thought 
strikes him: "Pigs, on a march, do not subject themselves 
to any leader among themselves, bat pass on higgledy. pig- 
gledy, without regard to age or sex.-" In his Notes Hawthorne 
gives a elue to his social and literary habits and tastes, and 
mentions some of his favorite books. — among them Pilgrim's 
Progress, Carlyle's Heroes, Rabelais, and Spenser's Faerie 
Queen. Other of his favorite authors were. — Milton, DeQuin- 
cey, Shakspeare. Rousseau. Sterne, and Pope. He tells us his 
chirography was outrageous, and that he hated dining out 
and society generally. "Destiny itself." says he, "has often 
been worsted in the attempt to get me out to dinner." Enough 
has been said to show the delectableness of the American Note 
Books. The English. French, and Italian deserve the same 
favorable criticism, besides atfording much that is new. 

It has ever been too little the custom of governments to 
give their needy men of letters official positions abroad, to 
make it possible for them to pursue literature more success- 
fully than they could do if subjected to provincial limitations 
and burdened with the engrossing question of daily mainte- 
nance. A place in the Salem custom house had been given 
Hawthorne with a view to aiding his literary enterprises ; 
and the kind thoughtfulness of his fi'icnd. President Pierce. 



176 .MISCEIJ-AXEA 

bestowed upon him. in 185;^ llic iiu)s1 lui-rativc consular post 
in his power to give. 

Upon his nrri\al at Liverpool, he \'ery soon came in eon- 
tact with one of the most disagreeabh' of his offieial duties, 
after-dinner speech making. After one of these occasions of 
"talking nonsense," as he calls it. he entered in his diary an 
estimate of what constitutes success in such perfoi-mauces. 
"Anybody," says he, "may make an after-dinner speech who 
will l)e content to talk onward witlu)ut saying 'anything. " 

If Hawthorne had written upon all the subjects he inci- 
dentally mentions as deserving such treatment, he would have 
been a most voluminous writer. The following thought, which 
seems to have come to him in his early experience at Livei'- 
pool, is but one of many that might be cited: "What was 
the after-life of the young man whom Jesus, looking on, loved, 
and l)ade him sell all that he had and give it to the poor, 
and take up his cross and follow him? Something very deep 
and beautiful might be made out of this." 

Hawthorne was in no strict sinise a sight-seer; he saw and 
described things generally overlooked by others. He seldom 
described nature, but rather a churchyard or an old wall cov- 
ered with vines, or a solitary worshiper kneeling in an obscure 
corner of some historic cathedral. He tells his feelings upon 
finding at an English railway station his T^vice Told Tales. 
Seven Gables, and Scarlet Letter. Of ]\liss ]Marti?icau. whom 
he met. he says: "Her hair is of a decided gray and she 
does not shrink from calling herself old." After visiting 
Conway Castle he writes: "Nothing else can be so perfect 
as a picture of ivy-grown peaceful ruin." He also says: "O 
that we could have ivy in America. What is there to beau- 
tify us when our time of ruin comes?" This bit of pretty 
writing, relating to Furness Abbey and in recognition of Eng- 
land's surpassing adaptability to the growth of verdui-e every- 
where, is too Hawthornesque to be omitted: "Put here, no 
sooner is a stone fence built, then Nature sets to work to 
make it a part of herself. A little sprig of ivy may be seen 
creeping up the side and clinging fast with its many feet : 
a tuft of grass roots itself between two of the stones, where 
a little dust from the road has been moistened into soil for 



MISCELLANEA 1 ( 7 

it; a small biiucli of fern grows in another such crevice; a 
deep, soft, green moss spreads itself over the top and all along 
the sides of the fence; and wherever nothing else will grow, 
lichens adhere to the stones and variegate their hues. Fin- 
ally, a great deal of shrubbery is sure to cluster along its 
extent, and take away all hardness from the outline ; and 
so the whole stone fence looks as if God had had at least 
as much to do with it as man." Hawthorne seems to have 
had no desire to make the acquaintance of distinguished for- 
eigners, even of his own calling. He met Douglas Jerrold. 
Charles Reade, Mr. and Mrs. Browning, Leigh Hunt, Barry 
Cornwall, and a few others. It is interesting to follow Haw- 
thorne through the parts of Great Britain historically renown- 
ed, to see with his eyes and feel with his delicate sensibilities. 
No other writer more nearly transports one to the very scenes 
described, or more fully satisfies the natural desire to visit 
them. The four years of Hawthorne's official life in P]ngland 
were unproductive in the way of authorship, though they sup- 
plied an experience needful to his intellectual development. 
At tlie close of his consular experience Hawthorne passed 
over to the continent, and remained in Prance and Italy two 
years. It was midAvinter when lie passed through France. 
The journey was disagreeable, as may be inferred from his 
saying that his impression of France would always be that 
it was an arctic region. Paris was excepted in this estimate, 
for with this he was delighted. Of the morals of the French 
he says: "They love a certain system and external correct- 
ness, but do not trouble themselves to be deeply in the right." 
Of their loquacity he writes: "In Marseilles a stream of talk 
seems to bubble from the lips of every individual." Taking 
a hurried look at France, he now proceeded to Rome, really 
his objective point, the sight of which is the happiest dream 
of the scholar and the artist. He spent the last fortnight 
of January in Rome, and declared that he had seldom or 
never spent so wretched a time anywhere. The cold annoy- 
<^d him. He said he now understood why Diogenes had asked 
Alexander, as the only favor he could do him, to stand out 
of his sunshine, there being such a difference in thos(> south- 
ern climes of Europe between sun and shade. But for his 



1 / 8 MISCELLANEA 

congealed wits and benuml)ed lingers, he declared lie would 
have kept a minute journal during those two weeks, which 
would liMve shown modern Rome in an aspect in which it had 
ti('\ <'i- been depicted. He declared that no description of Rome 
whicli he liad ever I'ead had given him any idea o±' the sort 
of place Rome was. Following is a somewhat lengthy quo- 
tation containing his impressions of Roman ruins: "1 am 
glad." says he, "that I saw the castles and Gothic churches 
and cathedrals of England before visiting Rome, or I never 
could have felt that delightful reverence for their gray and 
ivy-hung antiquity after seeing these so much older remains. 
l)Ut. indeed, old things are not so beautiful in this dry cli- 
mate and clear atmosphere as in moist England. Whatever 
beauty there may be in a Roman ruin is the remnant of what 
was beautiful originally : whereas an English ruin is more 
beautiful often in its decay than even it was in its primal 
strength. If we ever build such noble structures as these 
Roman ones, we can have just as good ruins, after two thou- 
sand years, in the United States; but we can never have a 
Furness Abbey or a Kenilworth." Nothing seemed more un- 
pleasant to him than a Roman w^inter. "Wherever." says 
he, ''I pass my summers, let me spend my winters in a cold 
country." The sight of the Tiber disenchanted him of all 
early infused ideas of its paternal and divine character. Ordi- 
narily it had to him the hue of a mud-puddle, but after a 
rain the appearance of pea soup. Hawthorne's retlectious 
upon Rome as an art-centre are most interesting. He speaks 
modestly on this subject, as one little acquainted with works 
of art. and for the first six months of his residence there as 
incapable of distinguishing betw^een the meritorious and the 
undeserving. He took great pride in the celebrity of the 
American sculptors. Story, xVkers, and Powers. He admired 
the Faun of Praxiteles, and conceived the idea of writing 
the Marble Faun. Of his own undeveloped powers of art- 
criticism Hawthorne writes: "In a year's time, with the ad- 
vantage of access to this magnificent gallery, I think I might 
come to have some little knowledge of pictures. At present 
1 know nothing: but am glad to find myself capable, at least, 
of loving one picture better than another. T cannot always 



MISCELLANEA 179 

'keep the heights I gain,' however, and after admiring and 
being moved by a picture one day. it is within my experi- 
ence to look at it the next as little moved as if it were a 
tavern sign." Later on he confesses that Raphael gr'ows 
upon him. "Until." says he, "we learn to appreciate the 
eherubs and angels that Raphael scatters through the blessed 
air, in a picture of the Nativity, it is not amiss to look at a 
Dutch fly settling on a peach, or a humbleljee burying him- 
self in a flower." Hawthorne describes Italian mosquitoes 
as '"horribly pungent little satanic particles." In March, 
1859, wdiile at Rome, he received a visit from ex-President 
Pierce, whom he always speaks of with affection. As an 
illustration of his unswerving friendship, an allusion may be 
made to Hawthorne's fearless devotion to Pierce when the 
latter was a candidate for the presidency. Hawthorne wrote 
a campaign life of Pierce, the most unpopular thing he could 
have done at that time in New England, "though," as he 
said, "I knew my friends would fall from me like autumn 
leaves." This must suffice for the Note Books, six most inter- 
esting diary volumes. Those who make much of books called 
"Table Talks," such as Selden's, or Luther's, or Coleridge's, 
will find in these life-thoughts of an accomplished author, pre- 
served in the severe English of an acknowledged literary artist, 
no ordinary treasures. 

At the age of thirty-throe, after ten years' residence at 
Salem, his first volume of Twice-Told Tales, really, it may 
be said, his first fruit of authorship, came from the press. 
The miraculous faculty of "extracting honey from weeds" 
has seldom been exhibited by an author in so marked a degree 
as by Hawthorne in these productions. Within the narrowest 
sphere of observation, without experience or even usual inter- 
course with the world, he seemed, like the spider, to spin out 
of his own bowels the delicate web of choice English, — so 
refined, in fact, that the mass of readers saw nothing in it 
to admire. It is claimed, on possibly insufficient grounds, 
that George Eliot's Romola killed the periodical in which 
it first appeared, like the meritorious work of art it is, requir- 
ing time to win appreciation. So the Twice-Told Tales con- 
tained in their literary essence an excellence of thought and 



180 MISCELLANEA 

dietion Avholly uncomprehended by the general reading publie. 
The essential characteristics of these tales are their simplicity 
of subject and the wonderful poAver shown by the author in 
making inconsequential matters subserve the purposes of high- 
est art. Of the trifling subjects treated in the first volume.— 
"Sunday at Home."' — "The Wedding Knell," — "A Rill from 
the Town l*nmp,"' and "Sights from a Steeple," are, perhaps, 
the most engaging. In "Sunday at Home" he gives a clue 
to his habit of non-attendance at church, where he declares 
that his "inner man goes constantly to church, while many 
whose bodily presence fills the accustomed seats, have left 
their souls at home." He watches from his ensconced place 
the church-goers passing to their various houses of worship. 
"Those pretty girls," he says, "why will they disturb my 
pious meditations'? Of all days in the week they should strive 
to look least fascinating on the Sabbath, instead of heighten- 
ing their mortal loveliness, as if to rival the blessed angels, 
and keep our thoughts from heaven." He also pictures the 
clergyman, "slow and solemn, in severe simplicity." It is 
in this volume that he makes one character touchingly con- 
fess his supi'emest satisfaction at "liaving a face that childrcni 
love." 

The second \()lume of Twice Told Tales, though issued 
some ten years later than the first, may be Ix'st disposed of 
here. As a Avhole, this volume is inferior to the one just 
laid aside, and is probably less familiarly known and read. 
Both have, however, the same literary stamp. One chapter 
of the second volume is worthy of particular notice, namely. 
' ' Footprints on the Sea Shore. ' ' Every great poet has described 
morning, a mountain landscape, and the sea. perhaps more 
invariably than anything else in nature. Especially, the last 
mentioned subject, the sea, has been the theme of deepest 
poetic thought and most artistic word-picturing. Not even 
Byron's apostrophe to the ocean is more highly poetical or 
more thoughtfully I'loquent than Hawthorne's sketch of a doz- 
en pages. Read during a warm September afternoon, beneath 
the shade on a modest mountain side overlooking the sea. one 
cannot fail to realize the deep pathos of words like these : 
"Get ve all gone, old friends, and let me listen to tlie nuir- 



MISCELLANEA 181 

jMur of 1h<' sea. — a melancholy voiee. Init less sad than yours. 
Of Avhat mysteries is it tellinj;? Of snnkeu ships and wherc- 
ahonts they lief Of ishuids afai' and undiscoNci'cd. whose 
UiAviiy ehildren are uneoiiseious of other islands and contin- 
ents, and deem the stars of heaven their nearest neighbors? 
Nothing of all this. What then? Has it talked so many ages, 
and meant nothing all the while? No: for those ages find 
utterance in the sea's unchanging voice, and warn the list(>ner 
to withdraw his interest from mortal vicissitudes, and let the 
infinite idea of eternily pervade his soul." 

Before proceeding farther it may be well to give a brief 
biographical review of Hawthorne from gi-adnation until his 
forty-sixth year, the date at which the Scarlet L(!tter, his 
masterpiece, appeared. In 1828. three years after he and the 
poet Longfellow graduated from Bowdoin College, his first 
literary venture, an unsuccessful romance called "Fanshawe." 
was published. He went to Boston in 1886 to publish the 
American Magazine, which soon becam(> bankrupt. In 1837 
he published Twiee-Told Tales, and from 1838 to 1841 Avas 
employ (h1 in the Boston Custom House, where the historian 
Bancroft was collector. He w^as at Brook Farm in 1842, was 
married in 1843. and for four years lived at the Old Manse 
at Concord, in the society of Pjmerson. Thoreau. and ('banning. 
From 184f) to 1850 he was surveyor of the port of Salem, dur- 
ing Avhich time he wrote the Scarlet Letter. The actual writ- 
ing of this story was done immediately after retiring from 
the office. Hawthorne saAV fit to include in the volume enti- 
tled the Scarlet Letter about forty pages of carefully written 
reflections and incidents relative to the Custom House. The 
propriety of binding up this somewhat extraneous matter with 
the story was (^'en in his own mind questionable; and. be- 
sides, the publication of what naturally enough was construed 
as having personal and local application, brought upon the 
author much unpleasant denunciatioTL However, after a care- 
ful re-perusal M'ith a view to striking out objectionable allu- 
sions, he determined to leave it unchanged even in a single 
word. This Custom House ])relude to the Scarlet Letter is 
in itself a study, bearing, as it does, the impress of the au- 
tlior's most critical mood and most careful habit of compo- 



182 MISCELLANEA 

sition. It as boldly defies criticism as the most perfect of 
the Essays of Elia. It is an interesting coincidence that Chau- 
cer, Lamb, and Burns were, like Hawthorne, each in his day 
connected with the custom house — a rather illustrious linking 
of the office with literature. It is in this prefatory sketch 
that Hawthorne makes the queer reflection upon himself as 
a degeneratt' in the necessary estimation of his Puritan ances- 
tors, who would have regarded him. "a writer of stories, on 
a par with a fiddler." 

The name ''Scarlet Letter" has reference to the scarlet 
letter "A.'' in accordance with a public decree worn by Hester 
Trynne. the prominent character in the novel, as a badge of 
shame, in consideration of her fatal mis-step and mistrust 
wliicli underlie the action of the whole story. The first chap- 
ter bears for a caption "The Prison Door," and contains the 
retiectiou that founders of colonies recognize it among their 
earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin 
soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site for a 
prison. It also contains a minute description of the jail which 
figures in the early part of the story. The next chapter, "The 
Market Place." introduces the reader to a throng of men 
and women drawn through morliid curiosity or nuilignant 
hate, and crowding about the prison to delight in the dis- 
comfiture of some fellow-creature, who through weakness or 
perversity lias transgressed the rules of propriety or the en- 
acted laws of stern Puritanism. The culprit on this occasion, 
Hester Prynne, of the reverend Master Dimmesdale's flock, 
is introduced in the act of submitting to public chastisement, 
being compelled to publish her disgrace and listen to the gibes 
and hateful glances of her thronging neighbors. She is de- 
scribed as having "dark and abundant hair, so glossy that 
it threw off the sunshine with a gleam." In the next chap- 
ter Hester is standing before her despisers, holding her baby 
in her arms and with the scarlet letter burning into her breast. 
An Indian and a white man, standing on the outskirts of the 
throng, help to make up the scene. The white man. in a 
composite dress, half civilized and half aboriginal, recognizes 
Hester and is in turn recognized by her. as is manifest by 
the convulsive manner in which she clasps the child to her 



MliSCELLANKA 183 

breast, causing it to cry with pain. He is her husband, from 
whom she was long ago separated in England, and whom she 
has thought dead. He asks a by-stander the particulars of 
what he sees before him, and learns that the full severity of 
the Puritan law^ — the real penalty for such an offense being 
death — has been relaxed, and that the subsituted penalty is, 
that she shall "stand a space of three hours on the platform 
of the pillory, and there and thereafter for the remainder 
of her natural life, to wear a mark of shame upon her bosom. ' ' 
Next follows an interview in the prison between Hester and 
old Roger CliilliugAvortli. her long-separated husband, he hav- 
ing been introduced in the character of a physician. Great 
skill is used in managing this interview. As it furnishes 
the key tt) the subse(|U(mt pages of the book, enough will be 
((uoted here to render clear the allusions that follow. Old 
Roger (hilling-worth was a very learned man, and was other- 
wise out of sympathy with his wife in that he was much older. 
'"One thing, thou that Avast my wife, I would enjoin upon 
thee." contiiuied the scholar. "Thou hast kept the secret 
of thy paramour. Keep likewise mine. There are none in 
the land that know me. Breathe not to any human soul that 
thou didst ever call me husband. I find here a woman, a man 
a child, amongst whom and myself there exist the closest 
ligaments. No matter whether for love or hate ; no matter 
whether of right or wrong, thou and thine, Hester Prynne. 
belong to me." Early in the book there is a chapter relative 
to Hester after being r(4eased from prison ; the fact of her 
remaining to dwell among her despisers is explained in the 
author's subtle manner: "There is a fatality, a feeling so 
irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which 
almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and 
haunt, ghost-like, the spot Avhere some great and marked event 
has given the color to their life-time; and still the more irre- 
sistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it." Her disgrace 
and discomfiture are well shown in what follows: "If she 
entered a church, ti-usting to share the Sabbath smile of the 
Universal Father, it was often her mishap to find herself the 
text of the discourse." Passing over the exquisite chapters 
on "Little Pearl." "The Visit to Governor Billingham." and 



1S4l miscellaxea 

■■'riir ]\lt'Otiiig: of Pearl wilh Mr. Diinnu'sdaU'."" iu)ti(.'r iiiiust 
l)t' taken of an intorvii'W hetAvccn old Roger C'hilliugworth 
and his patient, the unsnspeeting clergyman Dininiesdale. This 
chapter, for metaphysical insight, is hard to ecjual. It needs. 
liOAvever. to be studied to be appreciated. Later on in the 
volume, when alluding to the growing respect in which Hester 
came to be held, this gratuitous thought is thrown out: "It 
is to the credit of human nature, that, except where its self- 
ishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it 
hates.'' And again, in describing her as intiuenced by seven 
years of disgrace: "Some attribute had departed from her, 
the permanence of which had been essential to keep her a 
woman. Such is frequently the fate, and such the stern de- 
Aclopment. of tlie feminine character and person, when the 
Avomau has encountered and lived through an experience of 
peculiar severity. Tf she survive, the tenderness Avill either 
be crushed out of her. or. — and the outward semblance is 
the same — crushed so deeply into her heart that it can never 
show itself more. The latter is. perhaps, the truest theory. 
She Avho has once been woman, and ceased to b(» so. might 
at any moment become a woman again, if Thei-e were only 
the magic touch to effect the transtiguration." 

.\fter Ilawtliorne had completed the writing of the Scar- 
lei Letter, and wliile lie felt the tit of inspiration still ou 
liim. he rushed to the presence of his wife, and in the midst 
of her choking sobs read aloud the now famous cotu-lusion. 
Doubtless he felt the overwhelming power of his creation 
very nnu'h as Thackeray did his. when he reac^ over to him- 
self one of the best passages in Vanity Fair. "I swear." 
said Thackeray, amazed at tlie perfection of his work, "rm 
a genius." Before leaving the Scarlet Letter, it will be pro- 
per to say that it is. in the judgment of some of the best critics, 
the most ]ierfect piece of ]>rose lileratnre that America has 
prodnceil. 

Tlie House of Seven Gables. Avritten next after the Scarlet 
Letter, is. like that novel. New Enghnulisli and of the colonial 
times. It is tlie longest of Hawthorne's storit^s. and was by 
him regarded as superior to the Scarlet Letter. The char- 
acters are principally of two families — the aristocratic, de- 



MISCELLANEA 185 

frauding Fy ncheons and the defrauded Maulcs, a race of 
oarpenters. The basis of the action of the story is, that a 
curse once pronounced upon a great wrong, becomes a family 
inheritance. According to the wizard Maule's imprecation, 
the Pyncheons were to drink blood, and any slight gurgle 
in tile throat of a Pyncheon was sure 1o startle the listener 
who had chanced to hoar the whispered tradition. Even the 
IVncheons Avliose individual lives were unstained by crime 
wore- the look of blasted respectability. A single compre- 
hensive sentence of the autlior gives the central idea of the 
hook: "What is there." says he, "so ponderous in evil, that 
a thumb's bigness of it should outweigh the mass of things 
not evil which were heaped into the other scale?" The struc- 
ture ealled the House of Seven Gables was built by Col. Pyn- 
cheon foi- the gratification of his pride, upon laud unlawfully 
>vrenched from Matthew Maule. in whose execution for witch- 
<'raft Col. Pyueheou was also an instigator and a persecutor. 
The unaccountable violent deaths of several prominent Pyn- 
cheons are, by inference, attributable to the retribution evoked 
by these acts of injustice. It was a frequent complaint of 
Hawthorne that he seemed doomed never to write a "sun- 
shiny book." One little beam of light relieves the sombre- 
uess of this story, which would otherwise surpass in its gloom- 
iness all its author's other productions. Phoebe Pyncheon. 
the country cousin who inherited an excess of sunshine from 
lier mother, lessens the oppressive sadness that hovers about 
everything else. The simple but natural attachment between 
her and th(^ daguerreotypist Ilolgrave, the last of the Maules 
in disguise, which culminated in their marriage and quite 
consistently with art dispelled tlie long-brooding curee. is much 
after the fashion of the popular novel of the day. Mesmerism 
is skilfully introduced into the plot in connection with beau- 
tiful Alice Pyncheon, who. though little more than a phantom 
in the narrative, leaves upon the reader's mind an influence 
incomprehensibly strong. Some of the descriptive portions 
of this volume are vivid and strong, clearly indicating the 
author's facility in this direction, whenever he chose thus 
to exercise his powers. The happy treatment of domestic 
fowls belonging to the occupants of the Seven Gables is evi- 



186 MISCELLANEA 

(.lently IK) mere lU'ciclciit with tlu- writer, but au iuteuded 
exhibition ot* what he niiglit do in ways but seldom tried by 
him. ^lention ouglit to be made also of his description of 
a clear morning after a long storm, as well as of that relat- 
ing to what occurred around the House of Seven Gables dur- 
ing the twenty-four hours succeeding the tlight of Hepzibah 
and Clifford, and while Judge Pyncheon was sitting dead 
within. Pyncheon street, the Pyncheon elm. i\Iaule"s well. 
little Ned Higgins, and Uncle Venner will all be remembered 
as a necessary part in the completeness of the novel. 

The tliird of the so-called American stories is the Blithe- 
dale Romance. The characteristic feature of this volume, 
which distinguishes it from the author's other stories, is its 
immediate attractiveness for all classes of readers. In other 
words, it requires no effort to like it. whicli cainiot lie said 
of Hawthorne's writings generally. There is a class of lit- 
erature, and it is the best, which does not make itself felt 
upon the ordinary reader at once, but only after careful study. 
As in the case of a genuine work of art. its appreciation 
requires patient, often painful, preparation. Few persons, 
especially the young, like Shakspeare at first. A teacher 
once importuned a class of boys and girls to read some play 
of the great poet. When called upon to give an account of 
themselves, only one reported the accomplishment of his task, 
and in most disheartening words. Said he. addressing the 
teacher. "I've managed to worry through Julius Caesar just 
to please you, but I don't -want any more of the stuff." 
Byron, even, declared his inability to read SpiMisev's Faei-ic 
Queene. a book that has rarely failed to charm any person 
of literary taste who patientl.y submitted himself to its in- 
fluence. So it is with HaAvthorne : there are but fcAv writers 
of whom it may be so truthfully said, that it re(|uires posi- 
tive effort to get up to the plane of their genius and to 
acquire a never surfeited taste for their works. Tlie Blithe- 
dale Romance. howcA-er. is with him an exceptional produc- 
tion. It attracts and pleases from tlie first. This is undoubt- 
edly due (juite as much to the nature of siTbject as to the 
manner of treatment. There is also the additional interest 
arising from the fact that it is supposed to portray social- 



MI8CELLAXEA 187 

istie life at Brook Farm. Avhere for nearly a. year Hawthorne 
resided aud was an active participant in Mr. Ripley's vain 
.seheme to remodel and perfect man's social condition. It 
is a good book to begin with in taking up this gifted Anier- 
iean author. Tlie leading principle sought to be established 
by this romance is the presumptuousness of one person's en- 
deavoring to revolutionize eompletely and. as it were, in an 
instant, social eonditions that are the evolved product of 
centuries of human experience. With a few strokes of the 
pen. Hawthorne gives this vivid sketeh of Zenobia. the al- 
leged Margaret FuHer of Brook Farm: "She was. iiuUnnl. 
an admiral)le Hgure of a woman, just on tlic hither verge of 
her richest maturity, with a eombination of features whieh 
it is safe to call remarkably beautiful, even if some fastidious 
persons might pronounce them a little deficient in softness 
and delicacy. Not one wonuin in a thousand could move so 
admirably as Zenobia. Many women can sit gracefully : and 
a few. perhaps, can assume a series of graceful positions. 
But natural movement is the result and expression of the 
whole being, and cannot be well and nobly performed unless 
responsive to something in the character. I often think that 
music should have attended Zenobia 's footsteps." Elsewhere 
he speaks of the same character as •' lacking severe cul- 
ture." Here is a rare bit of Hawthorne's very conservative 
optimism: "1 rejoice that I could once think better of the 
world's improvability than it deserved. It is a mistake into 
whieh men seldom fall twice in a lifetime; or. if so. the 
rarer and higher is the nature that can thus magnanimously 
persist in error." In another place he says. "Men are often 
ashamed of what is bc^st in them." One is strongly tempted 
to give many of the interesting circumstances of this inter- 
esting story, such as those relative to Zenobia 's death by 
suicidal di-owning. and her burial, the first of their Arcadian 
colonists; or to give some account of her hopeful philosophy 
concerning the possible future of her sex; but leave must 
be taken of the Blithedale Romance with an extract in which 
the moral is draAvn from the character and errors of Holl- 
ingsworth. the philanthropist: "Admitting what is called phi- 
lanthropy, when adopted as a profession, to be often useful 



188 MISCEIXAXEA 

by its energetic impulse to soeiety at lar.ue. it is perilous to 
the individual whose ruling passion, in one exelusive ehauuel, 
it thus becomes. It ruins, or is fearfully apt to ruin, the 
heart, the rich juices of "which God never meant should be 
pressed violently out. and distilled into alcoholic liquor by 
an unnatural process, but should rentier life s^veet. bland, 
gently beneticent. and insensibly influence other hearts and 
other lives to the same blessed enil. 1 si'e in IIollingsAvorth 
an exemplification of the most awful truth in Bunyan's book 
of such : — from the \-ei-y gate of iieaven there is a by-way to 
the pit." Robert Browning thought Blithedale Romance the 
hcsl of its author's stories. 

It was but natural that Hawtht)rno shoukl choose to write 
at least one romance based upon a trans-atlantic theme, and 
that Italy should be the scene. The fact that ho chose to 
represent life in modern rather than in ancient Rome is to 
be accounted for. no doulU. in his avowed disregard of the 
history of the world anterior to the fourteenth century. The 
nanu> first selected for this romance, and the one by which 
it is still designated, to some extent at least in Europe, was 
"Transformation." really more appropriate when the nature 
of file Avork is considered ; for just as Septimius Felton is 
The problem of life with reference to a possibl(> earthly im- 
mortality, so the Marble Faun is the problem of evolved hu- 
manity. There are evidences in Hawthorne's earlier writings 
that the essential thought contained in the ^larble Faun had 
long haunted his mind. While human nature everywhere, by 
certain never-wanting traits, would suggest to his penetrat- 
ing intellect the subtle idea of such a transformation, there 
is, probably, no other country than Italy where such an idea 
could be better developed and illustrated. The famous piece 
of statuary representing a faun in marble was a mere hint 
to Hawthonie. and. besidi's a slight allusion to it near the 
beginning of tlfe book, has no significance to him. The au- 
thor's intention seems to have been, in part at least, to recon- 
struct the early Italian system of nature divinities. The sub- 
ject was wholly new to him: and while the book has great 
merit, it is not completely successful. This shortcoming is, 
however, necessary, and is owing to the peculiar limitations 



MISCELLANEA 189 

of the subject. Indeed, it would be difficult to uame any 
other author who with the same limitations would have es- 
caped downright failure. The story was first written, or 
rather blocked out, while the author was at Rome; but was 
re-written at Leamington. England, just before Hawthorne re- 
turned home, and was first published on the other side of the 
water. Hawthorne regarded this story as his masterpiece. — 
a conclusion to which but few readers ever come ; though 
its value as a Roman hand-book for English speaking trav- 
elers has made it. perhaps, the most popuhir of liis novels. 
Of the four essential characters in the story, Miriam is the 
finest creation, if indeed, she is not the greatest of all Haw- 
thorne's creations. The strange obscurity throAvn around her 
is safely within the limits of novel writing, and is the per- 
fection of art. The skill shown in that marvelously con- 
ceived situation wherein the look of Miriam is interpreted by 
both Donatello and Hilda as a connuand to kill, is almost 
nuitchless. Tliere is something quiet, sweet, and true about 
Hilda with her doves and her pure tlioughts, which wins every 
reader and leaves upon the mind an imperishable picture of 
what is humanly good and lovable. Kenyon, the artist, is 
only the necessary supplement to Hilda required by the fic- 
tion. Donatello. tiie intended prime character of the novel, 
who illustrates the main idea and instigates the whole move- 
ment of the story, is somewhat too mythical for analysis. 
AVhile it is probable that this hero of the novel is just what 
the writer intended he should be, — one in whom, as James 
says, "the element of the unreal is pushed too far," and 
while, in Hawthorne's judgment, this same unrealness con- 
stituted the chief merit of the work, the critics, for the most 
part, refuse to endorse Donatello as a happy creation. 

Some attention, at least slight, has now been given to all 
Hawthorne's works excepting the juvenile volumes. Mosses 
from an Old Manse. Dr. Grimshaw's Secret, and Our Old 
Home. Further notice will be taken of the last mentioned 
only, Our Old Home. This volume is of the same general 
character as the Note Books, yet differs favorably in this 
respect : it "\\ as complied by the author himself from his cas- 
ual notes made while abroad, and leisurely Avritten in a pains- 



190 MISCELLANEA 

taking manner. It was published in 1863. and its dedieation 
to Franklin Pierce so enraged the friends and admirers of 
Hawthorne that many refused to look at it ; Avhile some who 
purchased it tore out the inscription leaf. A recent perusal 
of Our Old Home has led to the belief that it has never 
received its just deserts, either for literary character or for 
patriotic temper. The best 1 can say for it is. I have never 
been more inclined to read a book at one sitting. In the 
first part of the volume are sketches entitled " Li^aujington 
Spa,'" "About Warwick." and "Recollections of a Gifted 
Woman." The last mentioned has reference to Delia Bacon, 
a literal y Penusylvanian whom he UK^t in London. Mdio had 
sutfcred luTself to be possessed with the idea that Lord Bacon 
wrote Shakspeare. In the same sketch also he includes his 
impi'essious of a visit to Stratford-on-Avon. tliaii which Wash- 
ington Irving hardly wrote anything more entertaining on the 
same siibjed. Then comes a chapter tlevoted to " Litchtield." 
"Uttoxeter. " and "Old Sam Johnson;" and after these a 
"Pilgrinuige to Old Boston." He next entertains us with 
impressions of "Oxford." and of "BlenheiuL" the three thou- 
sand-acre park originally given the Duke of Marlborough, the 
private garden of which Hawthorne declared was more beau- 
tiful than the Garden of Eden could have been. Then comes 
the best chapter in the book — "Some of the haunts of Burns.'' 
His reverence for the genius of Burns is well slioAvn in one 
])lace where he came near being beguiled into the description 
of most attractive natural scenery; liut be at once cliecked 
his thoughtless irreverence with the remark. "But a man is 
greater than a mountain." He gives consideral)le sj)ace to 
London, the Thames, and Westminster Abliey. and says fine 
things about Poets' Oorner. The last forty i)ages of the l)ook 
are devoted to "Civic Banquets." and contain some amusing 
personal experiences in Liverpool and London. Ilis admis- 
sion to the first jMayor's dinner party which he attended in 
Liverpool he thus describes: "Reaching the Town Hall at 
seven o'clock. I couimunicated my luime to one of several 
splendidly dressed footmen, and he repeated it to another 
on the first staircase, by whom it was passed to a third, and 
then to a fourth at the door of the reception room, losing 



MISCELLANEA ]\l] 

all iTsemlilanoe to the oviginal sound in llic coiirse of these 
transmissions: so that 1 had the advantage of making my 
entrance in the character of a stranger, not only to the whole 
comj)any. hut to myself as AveJi. " On this occasion, at the 
cnstt>mai'y toast. "Our gracious Sovereign." the company all 
rose and with tlie band accompanying sang "God save the 
Queen." Hawthorne says. "Finding that the entire dinner 
table struck in. .with voices of every pitch between rolling 
thunder and the squeak of a cartwheel, and that the strain 
was not of such delicacy as to be nuich hurt l)y the harshest 
of them, 1 determined to lend my own assistance in swelling 
the triumphant roar. Accordingly, my tirst tuneful efforts 
(and probably my last, for I purpose not to sing any more. 
unless it he 'Hail Columbia' on the restoration of the Union) 
W(M'e poured freely forth in honor of Queen Victoria." The 
chapter closes with a description of a Lord Mayor's dinner 
in London, where Hawthoi'ne for a while enjoyed himself 
so nuu'h on account of a previously obtained pledge that 
he should not be called upon to make a speech, but where 
he felt the heavens falling on him ns the drift of post-prandial 
sentiment took a turn towards American affairs, which must 
inevitably l)ring the bewildered consul to his feet. It has 
l)een alleged that Hawthorne had no humor. Several pas- 
sages in Our Old Home, as elsewhere, disprove the allegation. 
One concluding remark relative^ to Hawthorne's literary qual- 
ities. The best test of the strength of a ])ook is to re-read 
it. Few authors bear re-reading like Hawthorne. Charles 
Sumner read Our Old Home thr(M' times for the sake of its 
.style. 

The HaAvthornes. or Hathornes according to an earlier 
spelling of the name in P]n gland. W(M-e a family with sea- 
faring proclivities. Nathaniel's father and grandfather both 
having been sea-captains. He often declared that had he not 
gone to college he too should have taken to the sea. His 
inherited love for the ocean is shown in a remark he made 
to a sea-siek friend during their home passage from England 
in 18H0. "T should like to sail on and on forever." said 
he. "and never touch the shore again." He inherited great 
physical strength, and such manly beauty tliat it Avas re- 



11)2 MISCELLANEA 

marked iu London literary circles that Hawthorne's face was 
as fine as that of Kobert Bums. Hawthorne Avas hut live 
years old M'hen his father died in a foreign country. Though 
there was much in his moral and pliysical composition that 
was inherited from his father, especially a thoughtful reserve 
and a modest shyness, he owed a still greater debt to the 
inherited qualities and personal influence of a beautiful and 
sensible mother. Though a delightful companion to those who 
knew him intimately, he loved isolation, without which he 
could hardly have fostered and matured those mental char- 
acteristics which make his writings so unique. He was pecul- 
iar in the selection of his friends, often choosing those who 
were unpopular. Dr. Joseph E. Worcester, author of the 
Dictionary, was at one time his teacher at Salem, and, dur- 
ing a whole year when his pupil was confined to the house 
with lameness, took such an interest in him as to visit him 
daily for the purpose of attending to his lessons. AVhile at 
college he was once fined twenty cents for neglecting to write 
his composition. At graduation, though entitled to a part 
at commencement, his distaste for public speaking prevented 
him from appearing. Hawthorne was a model husband, never 
directing his wife in anything, but studying to see what she 
wanted, and then helping her to accomplish it. His wife's 
temperament was the reverse of his own. He h(^artily hated 
sham, and once remarked, "I have heard many cry out against 
sin in the pulpit, who can abide it well enough in the heart. 
home, and conversation." He had no appreciation of music, 
being unable to tell one tune from another. He Avas. hoM- 
ever, atfected by the unaccompanied voice. At Aldershot 
Camp in England the Lieutenant-Colonel apologized to him 
because he had neglected to have the band play Hail Colum- 
bia. Hawthorne said it was not of the slightest importance, 
for he should not have recognized it. He had great moral 
courage, as was shown by his daring to visit in jail a Rev. 
Mr. Cheever who had just been flogged in the street. He 
liked to visit farm houses and talk with the inmates, they 
not knowing who he was. Like Goethe, he loved beautiful 
persons. He was purely American, never becoming tinctured 
in the least with European social and political ideas. It has 



MISCELLANEA 193 

been claimed that Hawthorne's brain was as large as Web- 
ster's. Pie said the reason he was a democrat was because 
the (Salem people were whigs. His sister-in-law", Miss Pea- 
body, likens him to Hamlet, as being too finely developed 
for the position into which he came. Late in life he was 
very despondent, once saying: "I think it would need a good 
thousand years of sleep to rest from the turmoils of this mor- 
tal life." Pie never joined any church, and l)ut seldom at- 
tended church service. During his four years' residence in 
England he probably never heard an English sermon. He. 
however, took great pleasure in walking about old church- 
yards, preferring to talk with the sexton rather than with 
the rector. He read the Bible much, and often referred to 
it for the correct use of a word. James Freeman Clarke, 
in his funeral discourse, said "he was the friend of sinners." 
Nathaniel Haw^thorne was born at Salem, Massachusetts, July 
4th, 1804; and died at Plymouth. New Hampshire, May 19th. 
1864. His remains were buried in the cemetery of "Sleepy 
Hollow." at Concord. Mass., where he i-ests in the silent com- 
panionship of p]merson and Thoreau. 

Referring to Hawthorne's unfinished Romance, Longfellow 
wrote, — 

"Ah, who shall lift that wand of magic power, 
And the lost clew regain? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower 
L^nfinished nnist remain." 



LITERATURE AND LIFE. 



AS the discovery of truth is the work of a few onl}'. the 
mental exercises of nearly all are limited to the exam- 
ination of processes and principles already thought 
out and established. These processes and principles range 
all the way from the every-day practice and philosophy of 
common life to the subtle reasoning of the liest thinkers. Out 
of these abundant materials each mind takes something, either 
through its own blind choosing, or the almost equally blind 



1!)4 MISCELLANEA 

choosiug of others, or the force of circunistHnc'es. lu any 
case, the part taken is to the pai't h'ft but as a handful of 
water dipped from the sea. This thought is beautifully ex- 
pi-essed in the po(Mii entitled Olrig Grange — 

■"It is not given to anyone 
To overarch the structure of all knowledge. 
And ci-own it with its dome and golden cross: 
We only do a part and partly well, 
And otiiers come and nunid it." 

Evei-y age. l)acked as it is by all preceding ones, has been 
likened to a dAvarf standing on the shoulders of a giant, its 
chief advantage being, that it is able to see farther than the 
huge creature which alone sustains it in so elevated a posi- 
tion. The intellectual question of every age is. how it shall 
best utilize its advantages, develop its faculties of perception 
and discrimination, and assimilate tln^ best thought of its 
predecessors. 

It would l)e unreasonable to make the primary aim of 
mind-cidture consist in the remote and ultimate production 
of whole races of intellectual giants, whose average intelli- 
gence should surpass the highest individual intelligence that 
has y(4 appeared. It is by no means certain that such a 
state of things could not come with myriads of succeeding 
years ; l)ut the facts of all recorded time, it is believed, fur- 
nish not even the shadoM' of an intimation that the latest 
individual mind is in developed quality at all superior to the 
earliest. As somewhat corroborating this view, let it be re- 
membered that the Book of Job. one of the oldest literary 
productions, is also one of the most beautiful. The ancient 
inhabitants of Hindostan had their national epic of enduring 
beauty in a time so long gone by that the civilization which 
made siu*h a production possible is utterly obliterated. 

According to MatthcAv Arnold. "Culture is to know the 
best that has been thought and said in the world." This knowl- 
edge is. of course, accessible only in the literature which has 
been preserved and handed down through all the ages. Ham- 
erton compares the life of the intellectual to a long wedge 
of gold: the thin end of it begins at birth, and the depth 



MISCELLANEA 195 



and value of it go on indefinitely increasing, till at last comes 
Death who stops the process. 

The craving for knowledge as it is procured through lit- 
erature is not ordinarily natural but acquired. What at first 
is uninviting or even repulsive in literature may after inti- 
mate acquaintance become agreeable as well as elevating and 
refining. Nor is it any objection to the superior influence 
of the greatest literary works that the uncultivated fail to 
be impressed by them. When a man objected to Milton's 
Paradise Lost, he was told in a voice of simulated pity, that 
Milton was blind, and couldn't see to write for fools. Some 
allowance must be made for the fact that the same litera^ 
Ture may affect different minds, though of apparently equal 
strength, quite differently. Ben Jonsou used to say regard- 
ing the old ballad. "Uhevey Chase." that he would rather 
have been the author of it than of all his own works; while 
Dr. Johnson saw in the same composition nothing but lifeless 
imbecility. Besides, the reading public are often fastidious. 
AVhen Balzac wanted the world to praise his novels, he wrote 
a drama ; when he wanted his dramas praised, he wrote a 
novel. 

There is something touching in the morbid sentimental- 
ism which has appeared in the works of a few of the best 
writers of both ancient and modern times, expressions, gen- 
erally uttered at an advanced stage of life, of contempt for 
all intellectual embellishments. Horace sees man's highest 
ambition in the ownership of a rustic cot and a few acres 
of land traversed by a singing brook, and with a back-ground 
of tall shadowy tr(H-s. In a moment of satiety he would seem 
to loathe human accomplishments and a glorious career, and 
regret that he had not always remained a simple child of 
nature, sleeping in unconscious innocence close to her sooth- 
ing breast. Virgil calls him happy who knows only the pas- 
toral divinities. Ruskin. in his eccentric way praises Chau- 
cer's simple time, "when we boasted for the best kind of riches 
our l)irds and trees, our wives and children, in contrast with 
this age of steam-plows." A wise old Greek being asked in 
what respect his son would be better after being educated, 
replied: ''In the public assembly at the theatre at least he 



196 MISCELLANEA 



will not be a stone sitting upon a stone.'' The eonimou sense 
of the world will never be shocked at the punishment inflicted 
upon King Midas, who was compelled to wear asses' ears for 
preferring the music of Pan to that of Apollo. Some one 
has said of art, that ''while it is not something to live by, 
it makes life worth living.'' Though our physical needs are 
not ministered to by gazing on one of Rembraut's paintings, 
or by reading the works of some literary genius, or by indulg- 
ing the heart with participating in deeds of charity, yet that 
which is highest in our nature is fed by these things. This 
is Goethe's summing up of the true relation between art and 
life : ' ' One ought every day at least to hear a little song. 
read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, 
to speak a few reasonable words." M^hat Whittier said to 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps is apropos: "Elizabeth, thee would 
not be happy in heaven, unless thee could go missionary to 
the other place now and then." Matthew Aronld also speaks 
to the point where he says. "Culture has its origin in the love 
of perfection." 

It will not do to lose sight of the higher utility of gen- 
eral literature, in that it conduces so much to human perfec- 
tion and happiness. It is not easy to draAv a comparison 
between the practical good and the ideal good. Who shall 
conclude between the comparative merits of a good conversa- 
tionalist and those of a great astronomer"? How sliall it l)e 
determined Avhich is the greater benefactor even, the French- 
man Avho invented the wheelbarrow, or the Scotchman who 
invented logarithms? Which shall have the prize, Morse, who 
made the electric current a medium of instantaneous speech 
for all nations, or Socrates, who taught mankind the language 
and secrets of a better life? It is given on good authority, 
that philosophy may not be expected to bake bread, nor a 
rose to sing. 

The obligation impelling to the literary life is in part the 
dictation of an innate principle, wliich recognizes a higher 
and a lower in man's nature. Notice Agassiz's reply to a 
tempting lecture committee: "I have no time to make mon- 
ey." Or the saying of Von ]\Iuller. "Truth is the property 
of God, the pursuit of truth is Avhat belongs to man." Or 



MISCELLANEA 197 

that of Richter. "'It is not the goal but the course that makes 
us happy." Or again of Malebranche. "If I held truth cap- 
tive in my hand, I would open my hand and let it fiy. that I 
might again pursue and capture it." Man pursues the intel- 
lectual life because he discriminates between the higher and 
the lower, just as he thinks it something nobler in its nature 
to have a taste for nuisic than to have an appetite for food. 
It is well to remember that nature provides for the physical 
welfare of the race. Respiration and the circulation of the 
')lood are no more perfect to-day than before the time of 
Harvey. Nature takes no such care of the intellect. It is 
much easier to prescribe for a boy the few simple accomplish- 
ments which will give him the pleasures of a well-earned 
livelihood, than to provide awakening influences for all the 
faculties of his mind, unfolding and strengthening them by 
judicious exercise, and making him capable of the highest 
intellectual pleasures. The girl who reads with fondness the 
works of Mrs. Holmes might, through proper influences, come 
to find much greater delight in the works of Scott or Irving, 
which, from a literary point of vieM^ are as far above the 
former as the stars are above the trees. No higher service 
can be done for the young than to lead them to feel that 
Grray's Elegy and the Psalm of Life are something more than 
words and rhyme, thus touching into active life a dormant 
faculty of the soul, ever afterwards to be enraptured l)y other- 
wise unheard harmonies and unseen beauties. 

In this material age tliere is a strong temptation for men 
to neglect the humanizing influences of literature for the more 
sulistantial benefits of business enterprise ; and it becomes 
necessary to urge upon public attention the truth formulated 
by a Scotch professor, that "the man is more than his trade." 
It is only l)y coming in contact with a great variety of lit- 
erature that one gives his intellectual faculties a chance to 
discover tlu'ir possibilities, (lladstone. happening to read Less- 
ing's Laocoon. had his attention turned to art; which he 
afterwards studied with enthusiasm. A comparison drawn 
between an illiterate age and one of literary enlightenment 
is. perhaps, one of the most satisfactory ways of showing 
the benefits flowing from the general intelligence which letters 



198 MISCELLANEA 

afford. ('()ini)ai'e Europe of to-day with Europe of tlic 12tli 
and 13th centuries, when, it is alifirmed by a distinguished 
historian, not one man in five hundred could have si)elled 
his Avay through a psalm. Of the thirteen barons who sub- 
scribed to JMagna C'harta in 1215. only three were sufficiently 
educated to write their names. 

It is the essential province of history to teach mankind 
by a philosophical presentation of human expericMices, con- 
sidered more especially from political and ethnical points of 
view. History gives a broad scope of human activities; it 
teaches the wider and deepei- lessons of the aggregate man, 
and contains the philosophy of human living, which all who 
woukl li\'e rightly need to learn. It is indispensable for those 
who are called to administei- the affairs of government, which 
class in a republic embraces all the people. The military man 
finds here his best instructor, an instructor whose lessons 
embrace all possible examples to give guidance in every com- 
plication. The scholar, bui'uing with a desire to know the 
best path to choose, finds h<>re a never failing supply of sug- 
gestion and warning. The finmblest 'draws from its pages 
lessons of contentment, encouragement, and quiet peace. Dur- 
ing the Hayes-Tilden electoral difficulty, a naturally sagacious 
but not well-read man expressed himself in this manner con- 
cerning the instability of our republic: "This governaient." 
said he. "won't last long; there is nothing to it.'" Had he 
been even tolerably informed in histoi'y. he would have seen 
the unreasonableness of such a conclusion. He would have 
known that a nation, like a man. grows strong and acquires 
substantial character only by struggling, that the most stable 
nations have passed through crises as hazardous as any we 
have known. Of the nine Roman Emper(U-s who reigned in 
the time of Ohrysostom, only two died a natural death. Dur- 
ing the 160 years which preceded the union of the Roses, 
nine kings rcMgned in England. Six of these were deposed, 
five of whom lost their lives as well as their crowns. History 
often imprt'sses the significance of seemingly trifling e\(>nts. 
Let this one ease be noticed. The insertion of fiUoqm in Xhv 
Nicene Creed hopelessly divided the Church into two distinct 
branches. The value of the study of history is pithily sum- 



MISCELLANEA 199 

med up by Richter: "Not to know tlie aiicieuts is to Ix' an 
cphemeron. which neither sees the sun rise nor set." 

Much that has been said eoncerning history is, in a nar- 
rower way, true of bio|;raphy. The latter may be regarded 
as a literature supplementary to the former; it is. as it were, 
a minute tilling in of a picture of wdiich history is the com- 
prehensive outline. No kind of literature more universally 
pleases than well written biography. The reason for this seems 
to be. that it reveals the little things of life, the things cor- 
responding to our every-day experience. It is chiefly for this 
reason that Boswell's Johnson causes Boswell to be called 
th»^ "'Prince of Biographers." As an illustration, when at 
Trinity College. Cambridge. Macaulay once got too near an 
enraged mob and was liit full in the face Avith a dead cat. 
The person who threw^ it apologized heartily, saying it was 
intended for a Mr. Adeane. "T wish." replied ]\Iacaulay. 
"you had intended it for me and hit the other man." 

The benefits Avhieh fiction confers upon life are generally 
less appre('ial>le than those derived from history and biog- 
raphy ; and yet to quite an extent it usurps the offices of 
both these. The study of a historical novel like "Quentin 
Durward" oi* "Xinety-three." or a biographical one like "The 
Virginians." is a most valuable means of learning events and 
men. So valuable are the productions of the ablest tiction 
writers, that biography presents few examples of actual life 
which can be studied with greater profit than may be these 
gifted children of genius. The names of these spirit-born 
men and Avomen are as familiar to us as household words, 
and may as deeply influence the formation of character as any 
who have lived a tlesh-and-blood existence in the Avorld. One 
of the benefits of fiction is to supplement human experience. 

Though a man no less wise than tSocrates declared it use- 
less to read poetry unless the author were by to tell what 
he meant, it is. nevertheless, true, that a love for poetry is 
as pervasive of human nature as the spirit of religion. To 
the question raised, w^hether England could better aft'ord to 
lose her Shakspeare or her possessions in India. Carlyle re- 
plied: "Indian Empire or no Indian Empire, we cannot do 
without Shakspeare." The cultivation resulting from a .study 



200 MISCELLANEA 

of the poets brings into activity mental resources which it 
is possible for every one to discover in himself, and which 
notliing but poetry can so successfully call forth. There is an 
educational value in what such poets as Chaucer and Words- 
worth have written about tiowers. According to Richter, "Po- 
etry is beueticial as a counterbalance to civilization, because 
it draws an artistic life around the thin shadows, and erects 
on the field of more sensuous views its own glorious visions." 
Among a people such as we are, who from our peculiar envi- 
ronment are to a great extent debarred from the intiuence 
of sculpture and painting, poetry, which embraces in itself 
nnich of what is essential in these arts, should have a prom- 
inent place. 

The chief educational value of scientific literature consists 
in turning thought and studious effort to empirical methods 
of reaching truth. The logical conclusion of the educational 
theory of the ultra-scientists is. that books and literature 
should play but an insignificant part in it. that nearly every- 
thing in science should be learned at first hand from the 
subject itself; but this would be an absurd process for the 
many. Avho. to be able to get what is most desirable out of 
life, must have such a degree of familiarity Avitli scientific 
matters as literature affords them ready at hand. A good 
example of an early and ardent advocate of purely empirical 
methods of scientific study is Des Cartes. On one occasion, 
when asked to show his library, he opened the door of a dis- 
secting room, where appeared nothing but bones and l)roken 
remains of animals, together with dissecting instruments which 
showed signs of recent use. "This."' said he. "is my library." 
The charm of original investigation must, however, be denied 
the student in many departments of science, and yet an im- 
portant ac((uaiutance witli them, though less beneficial than 
what a specialist would obtain, may and should be secured 
through literature. 

It is somewhat on the score of divereion and of satisfying 
the taste, that the ancient classics claim an important place 
in the range of literature. As the art student finds his great- 
est satisfaction in studying the Greek sculpture of the time 
of Pericles, so the lover of good prose and poetry finds in 



MISCELLANEA 201 

the masterpieces of Greece and Rome his greatest delight. 
An aged clergyman was once found employing his leisure 
with reading Aristophanes in the original. Surprise being 
expressed that he should be so occupied, he said: "Why, 
if I had my life to live over, I would do nothing but read 
Greek." This absurd notion about spending an entire life in 
the company of the Greek authors is not after all so incom- 
prehensible, if one but stops to think what, intellectually con- 
sidered, Athens was. An English writer who understood the 
Gre(4<s and Romans thoroughly, and whose prose writings are 
often cited as the best English substitute for the ancient 
classics, gives expression to the folloAving surprising state- 
ment: "Let us now retiect again a moment on Athens. A 
city not larger than Liverpool, and whose inliabitants might 
almost have been lost in Syracuse, produced, within the short 
period of two centuries (reckoning from the battle of Mara- 
thon), a greater number of exquisite models in war, philos- 
ophy, patriotism, oratory, and poetry, — in the semi-mechanical 
arts which accompany or follow them, sculpture and painting, 
in the first of the mechanical, architecture, — than the remain- 
der of Europe in six thousand years." Robert Burns sneered 
at Greek, not knowing that language, because "there be fools 
who affect Greek," seemingly ignorant of the beautiful an- 
sAver a greater poet makes to all such unreason, that "Angels 
are bright still, though the brightest fell." If any one thing 
more than another has been established in human experience 
as history shows it to us, it is. that Avherever and whenever 
a high civilization holds sway, man's intellectual cravings wnll 
be satisfied only with the best, taking it wherever it can be 
found, often but a little in a place, from David and Homer 
down to our own time. 

As every good when indulged in to excess has mixed with 
it something of evil, it is not surprising that an immoderate 
devotion to literary study should give some warning examples 
of barren lives — that is. that one should become merely book- 
ish rather than scholarly. Literature should not become so 
absorbing an indulgence, that the spherical completeness of 
;t man's character should be thwarted thereby— an unfortun- 
ate procedure, and (luile like the e-oudiict of ihe foolish cainel 



202 MISCELLANEA 

in the IU'l)reAV proverb, who in going to seek horns lost liis 
ears. Goldsmith is. perhaps, the best example of a literary 
man who was totally ignorant of the world and real life. 
Horace Walpole called him an inspired idiot. The over-as- 
surance which a "little learning" may give one, and which 
may become offensive, was exhibited by a Boston horse-car 
driver. A stranger asked him if the car would pass the 
Museum. "No,'' he replied, "but it goes by the Museum." 
Alas, the effects of learning do sometimes illustrate the math- 
ematical principle, that multiplying the denominator divides 
the fraction. To the objection that general literature tends 
to uproot belief and promote agnosticism, it may be answered 
that, while it sometimes leads the mind through a wilderness 
of doubt, it results almost as frequently in the more intelli- 
gent re-establishnu'ut of what was essentially its old beli(^f. 
The contradictory charactcM- of the intluenee of literature upon 
religious conviction Jiiay be seen in these few instances. St. 
Augustine was converted to Christianity by reading Cicero, 
a pagan author. A lady once confessed that she never had 
any doubts about the truths of Christianity until she studied 
Paley's Evidences. Some one ^las declared that he would trace 
heresies in the Lord's Prayer,' if anyone desired it. 

Much of the best literature, ancient and modern, the early 
English in particular, is stamped by a coarseness we could 
well wash it not possessed of, yet the moral tone of which 
is most healthful. There is, however, a literature, refined 
in appearance but wholly vicious in its influence, and wiiich 
ought never to be read by anyone. It is like the fair ijlossom 
whose odor kills. 

There is an affected admiration for literature which de- 
serves the ridicule and contempt it is sure to bring upon 
itself. Addison's play of the Drummer, when presented anon- 
ymously, was coldly received, but afterwards, when known 
to be his, w^as greatly applauded. A lady once on returning 
from listening to one of Shakspeare's plays, was asked what 
the play was. She said she believed it was called "The Turn- 
ing of the Screw" — not so bad a name after all. 

There are books we never think it worth while to read 
until we find some favorite author praising them. When it 



MISCELLANEA 203 

is ascertained that Goetlie praises the Vicar of Wakefield, it 

is safe to \)uy that boolc and read it. 

Barrow presented a copy of Bacon's Essays to his pupil 

Isaac Newton, saying it was a volume he gave onl} to those 

Avho were destined to be great. 

The pleasure derived from reading Shelley's Sensitive Plant 

is no less real, because no one knows just what it means; 

everybody knows it is beautiful. 

Unless a person constantly reads and studies, he will soon 

do nothing but repeat himself. 

The best educated man is he M'ho, while actively engaged 

in the affairs of life, makes the fewest mistakes. He is the 

wisest man who, knowing his mistakes, also kiioA\s liow to 

make them a means of self-discipline and self-improvement. 

Such education and such wisdom are satisfactorily- attained 

only when experience and observation are well supplemented 

by literature. 

The three most earnest wishes of an early Church Father 
were, to have seen Christ in the flesh, to have heard Paul 
preach, and to have seen Rome in its glory. What elevated 
desires! Yet how vain! That which makes us most nearly 
contemporary with all the ages is dramatic poetry. Hoav far, 
in this respect, it surpasses history, sculpture, and painting! 
What richness of characterization has the greatest dr'amatic 
poet, the myriad-minded Shakspeare, created! How many 
historic men and women have been re-endowed by him with 
enduring life! Do you desire the noblest spectacles of pure 
and holy love? Seek them not in human beings around you; 
they are often gross; their affections are mixed with selfish- 
ness offensive to the mind. Rather make the acquaintance 
of this great poet's creations. Study manly virtue and wom- 
an's perfect graces in the lineaments and characters on w^hich 
he has bestoM^-d objective existence. Study the excelling qual- 
ities of both his Portias — one, of his own creation, who taught 
how to ''temper justice wnth mercy:" the other, the Portia 
of history, Cato's daughter, of whom her lord the noble Brutus 
said, "as dear to me as are the ruddy drops that visit my sad 
heart." Study Juliet, of incomparable loveliness, whose lips 
" — in pure and vestal modesty 
Still blush as thinking their own kisses sin." 



204 MISCELLANEA 

Study tlie modesty, grace, and teudenicss of poor Ophelia, 
so ill-fitted for a rude world. Study the woniauly perfee- 
tions of Imogen, "created of every ereatnre's l)est." Study 
Lear's Cordelia, the impersonation of truth and duty, of whose 
heavenlj' beauty of soul not even Sehegel would venture 1o 
speak. Would you see the reverse of the picture, and learn 
virtue by contemplating the repulsiveness of wrong doing? 
The same master-hand has portrayed for you Cleopatra and 
Lady Macbeth. Othello shall be for you the eml)odiment of 
jealous}^; Gloster and Tago of fiendish villainy. For success- 
ful royalty there shall be for you Henry V. ; and Katherine 
of Aragon for a most unhappy cjueen ; while the immortal 
Falstaff, first in the lists of comedy, shall afford you enter- 
tainment fit to l>eguile a Kin<i\ 



LITERARY PARALLELISMS. 

TO call the present but tlu^ past repeated, is to say noth- 
ing new ; nor is the saying true ; still it expresses so 
nnich of truth, that the Preacher's declaration. "That 
Avhieli hath been is now, and that which is to lie hath already 
been," has in a considerable degree the authorization of his- 
tory. Coleridge thinks that even the Proverbs of Solomon and 
the Psalms of David are to some extent plagiarized, ^schuy- 
lus said his writings were only a few crumbs picked up from 
the table of Homer. Dr. Johnson declared that everything 
which is most admirable in poetry is to ])e found in Homer. 
As for the incomparable Greek himself, it is maintained by 
the observant Landor. that "many streams, whose fountains 
are now dried up, have flowed from afar to be lost in th(^ 
ocean of Homer." 

Roman literature is uniformly charged with plagiarism. 
The Ars Poetica of Horace is said to contain but few pre- 
cepts not met with in Aristotle. Ovid complained that the 
early writers had stolen all the good things. Emerson, indeed, 
says: "All stealing is comparative. If you come to absolutes. 
pray, who does not steal?" Voltaire says books are made 
from books. It has l)eeii estimated that Shakspeare contains 



MISCELLANEA 205 

over six Ininclred quotations, allusions, or sentiments taken 
from the Bible. 

While it is true, as some one asserts, that "the greatest 
writers have been the greatest borrowers," it is still more 
signifieautly true, that every great writer in the main stamps 
his work with a die of his own, and that so elearly that what 
he appropriates from others is by a comparison with his own 
too meagre to arrest thoughtful attention. 

Goldsmith, when he began to write, determined to commit 
nothing to paper but what was new. But Avhen he found that 
Avhat is new is generally false, he adopted a diiferent course. 

Montaigne has a beautiful simile relating to the way an 
author collects materials from various sources and moulds them 
into what is new, "just as bees cull sweets from many flowers, 
but themselves after make honey, which is all and purely their 
own, and no more thyme and marjoram." 

The successful transmuting of borrowed thoughts is by no 
means 'universal. Milton for the most part used his borrow- 
ings unsuccessfully. Landor asserts that Racine has stolen 
many things from Euripides; that he has spoiled many of 
them, and injured all ; but that Shakspeare, when he borrows, 
is more original than the originals, that he breathes upon dead 
bodies and brings them to life. Coleridge claims that no one 
can fully understand Shakspeare 's superiority, until he has 
ascertained by comparison all that which he possesses in com- 
mon with other great dramatists of his age, and has then 
calculated the surplus which is Shakspeare 's own. 

Many proverbs and maxims have so far become common 
property, that they are used freely by authors and speakers 
and in ordinary conversation without any acknowledgment 
of their source. To speak of "making hay Avhile the sun 
shines," or of "hitting the right nail on the head." is to 
use what belongs to everybody. It is the practice of some 
writers to use even the more obscure allusions in antique 
fable with no intimation that they are borrowed. They would 
seem to flatter the reader by presuming that his scholarship 
will be their safeguard against the charge of theft. Carlyle 
somewhere says, as if speaking his own sentiment, ''The rustic 
sits waiting till the river rans by," while but few of his 



206 MISCELLANEA 

ri'aders can know that he is quoting Horace. 

There is entertainment in tracing the repetitious, parallel- 
isms, and. when possible, the origins, of trite proverliiai expres- 
sions. "Out of sight, out of mind,"' is in Thomas a Kempis, 
of tlie 15th century, though it may not he his. "Tell it to 
the mjarines.'" is Horace's Credat Judaeus Aprila in another 
dress. "Make haste shiwly." dates back to Augustus Caesar. 
"The burnt child dreads the fire." is found in the writings 
of Ben Jonson, but, according to Landor, nearly all of that 
author's ideas are borrowed. Emerson uses aptly a Scripture 
incident in declaring that the leading question of the times 
absorbs all other questions, just as Aaron's serpent swallowed 
the other serpents; But Pope had been there before him in 
Avhat follows: — 

"And hence one master passion in tbe breast. 
Like Aaron's serpent swallows up the rest." 

The familiar "no rose without its thorn." is suggested in 
Milton's "without thorn the rose." but is in fact taken from 
one of Shakspeare's sonnets. It is Cervantes Avho says, "It 
is best grinding at the mill before the water is past." though 
the thought may be much older. "Virtue is its own reward," 
is to be traced through various English authors as far as 
Isaac Walton : but 1500 years before Isaac Walton Seneca 
has said, "The conscience of well doing is an ample reward." 
In both Iliulilu-as and Don Quixote we find, "Look jjefore 
you leap." The Scrii)ture phrase, "gathering gi-apes from 
thorns," is, in Cervantes, "expecting pears from a elm tree." 

To sho-w tliat excess is wasteful and ridieulous. there are 
S(>veral well known sayings. Such are Shakspeare's "gilding 
refined gold" and "l)ringing faggots to bright burning Troy." 
Such also are "throwing water into the sea," and "carrjnug 
coals to Newcastle." A common source for all these may 
be Horace. He at first intended to writ(> his poems in Greek, 
but the image of Quirinus appeared to him after midnight, 
when dreams are true, reminding him that such a proceeding 
would be as foolish as "carrying timber into a wood." It 
is a Buddhist aphorism, that he who indulges in enmity is 
like one who "throws ashes to windward." 



MISCELLANEA 207 

"He who lives to save his life is already dead." is (Joethe's 
paraphrase of the New Testament. 

Tennyson's happy depietion of the Gardener's Daughter 
as "a sight to make an old man young," is in a manner 
plagiarized from an artistic scene in the Iliad. — that where 
Helen comes to meet Priam and the other old men as they 
sit watching on the wall of Troy. 

The familiar saying of Falstaif, "Discretion is the better 
part of valor." is l)ut an amplification of Euripides. "Discre- 
tion is valor." 

In the Xew Testament it is written. "Evil comnuinications 
corrupt good manners." Menander said the same 300 years 
before Christ. It is something of a surprise to find in Plato 
the injunction against returning evil for evil. 

The danger, when avoiding one evil, of running into an- 
other, is a frequent warning with classic writers. Virgil's 
Scylla and Charybdis is, perhaps, the best example of this. 
Yet Horace quotes an old saw, "The wolf threatens you on 
this side, the dog on that." 

One of Bryant 's most admired passages, ' ' Truth crushed 
to earth shall rise again," is an almost literal translation of a 
proverb quoted by Livy, where Fabius gives advice to Lucius 
.■Emilius Paulus, to the effect that truth may be often in dis- 
tress, but extinguished never. The line of the American poet 
is, however, clearly the honey of his own making. 

Socrates 's prayer to Pan. "Grant me to be beautiful in 
soul; t(^ach me to think wisdom the only riches," is much 
like what may be found in the Hebrew Scriptures. Chaucer's 
happy diction in "a foul shepherd and clean sheep." is only 
an echo from Boccaccio, that earliest voice of modern Euro- 
pean prose. This is Boccaccio's way of saying it: "Do as 
we say, not as we do." 

There is a nuich praised passage in one of Goethe's bal- 
lads called the "Wanderer," portraying a traveler Avho finds 
a little family, consisting of a laborer, his wif(\ and infant 
child, dwelling in a rude cottage made from the stone ruins 
of a once splendid castle. The idea is in Horace. avIio. it is 
likely, took it from some Greek. 

Pope's familiar hymn. "Vital spark of heavenly flame." 



208 JIISt'EIJ.ANEA 

is said to be an expanded translation of the dying sentiments 
of the Emperor Hadrian. 

The saying, quite common in literature, that "no man is a 
hero to his valet," is in Montaigne, "Few men have been 
admired by their oM'n domestics." 

With a few poets, their finest lines are mere translations 
of passages from ancient authors. Cowper's "God made the 
country and man made the town," was said by Bacon, who 
had taken it from the Latin poet Varro. 

Solomon's "Spare the rod and spoil the child." is as fol- 
lows in the Greek proverb: "The human lieing who has nevpr 
had a hiding is uneducated." 

A recent writer says: "A secret is half told when we have 
told that we have a secret." This is in Goethe, "Whoever 
wishes to keep a secret must hide from us that he possesses 
one." 

The majestic speech of Prospero in the Tempest, "The 
cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces." is declared by 
Dowden to resemble closely something in an earlier drama 
l)y the Earl of Sterling. But to take such a brilliant gem 
from the boundless treasures of Shakspeare does not in the 
least improvish the great poet. It is only making an appli- 
cation of the mathematical principle, that taking a finite quan- 
tity from infinity does not make infinity less. 

Shakspeare 's art in Richard 11. has been (luestioiK^l. b(^- 
cause tlie dying John of Gaunt is allowed to make a pun on 
his own name. But such criticism is silenced by the fact that 
Sophocles, the great master of the dramatic proprieties, has a 
parallel in his Ajax. 

"Dying in the last ditch," seems to have its origin with 
the Prince of Orange in the 17th century. 

Dr. Johnson's "Hell is paved witli good iutcnitions," is to 
be found in the works of Francis de Sales, a French writer 
of an earlier date. 

"Old men for council, young men for war," is in Hesiod 
thus: "Deeds belong to youth; council to the middle-aged: 
prayer to old men." 

We find in Shakspeare. "My crown is on my lu^art. not 
on my head." Xenophon wrote the same 400 B. C. 



MISCELLANEA 209 

Shakspeare 's '"Out, brief candle,'" maj' have been suggested 
by this from Seneca : ' ' We are kindled and put out. ' ' 

Tope's "Men are children of a larger growth," is, in Shaks- 
peare, "Men are but children, too, though they have gray- 
hairs. ' ' 

"Murder will out," seems to make its first English appear- 
ance in Chaucer. 

Herbert Spencer is appropriating the thought of Seneca, 
when he lays it down as a rule in his treatise on education, 
that we should never give a child anything it cries for. 

The world-wisdom of to-day seems to have been the world- 
wisdom of 2,000 years ago. This from Horace is quite Shaks- 
pearian: "Get money; if you can, honestly; if not, get it 
in some way or other." 

In Shakspeare 's Henry VI., the Duke of York is made 
to say: "A crown or else a glorious tomb." Nelson may 
have had this in mind when he uttered the immortal Avords. 
"The peerage or Westminster Abbey." 

Seneca anticipated Dr. Johnson by 1.500 years in declaring 
total abstinence to be easier than moderation. 

Epictetus warned philosophers not "to walk as if they 
had swallowed a poker." How modern it sounds! The same 
Epictetus speaks of "taking up whe}' with a hook." Avhich 
suggests "eating porridge with a razor." 

"Delays are dangerous." is in Dryden, Shakspeare. and 
Sophocles. 

Young's ]\m\ "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," 
suggests this from Sophocles, — 

"Sleep, thou patron of mankind. 
Great physician of the mind." 
Pope 's — 

"To err is human, to forgive divine," is as follows in 
Sophocles, — 

"—the unwritten law divine, 
To err is human." 

Milton is quoting from the ^-Encicl in. — 

"Long is the way 
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light." 



2 1 MISCELLANEA 

John Wesley's "Cleanliness is next to godliness," which 
is in Hacou. is in the Koran thus: "Cleanliness is one half 
tin- faith/' 

I^a l'\)n1aine's "Better a beggar alive than a dead em- 
peror," is paralleled in the Scriptures by "A living dog is 
better than a dead lion." 

"Honesty is the best policy," made familiar by Franklin 
and Cervantes, is 23 centuries old, Thucydides having said it, 
according to Jowett's translation, as f oIIoavs : "The true path 
of expediency is the path of right." 

"A bird in the hand is Avorth tAvo in the bush." runs 
like this in Cervantes: "A sparrow in the hand is wor-th a 
bustard on llie wing." 

Milton's "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven." 
which at first sight looks original, is very much like Saneho 
Panza's "good to command, though it were bnt a Hock of 
sheep." Milton's "myself am hell" is Tasso's. — 

"Vet still my hell within myself do bear." 

In Madame de JSevingne's writings is found. "Fortiuie is 
always on the side of the largest battalions." Tacitus has 
it, "The gods are on the side of the stronger." Nap()l(H)n's 
paraphrase is, "Providence is always on the sid(> of tlie last 
reserve." 

In the i)lay of eJulius Caesar, when Casca was askeil if 
Cicero spoke in Greek, he replied. "It was Greek to me." 
Moliere's modification is, "It is all Hebrew Greek to me;" 
while in Cervantes is found. "All tiiat was Greek or pedler's 
French to the countryman." 

"It is not everyone that can go to Corinth." is traced 
through George Sand and Rabelais to Horace. 

Aristophanes, many centuries before Butlei", said in sub- 
stance, — 

"He who com[)lies against his will 
Is of the sanu» opinion still." 

Fielding in1imatt>s that a certain man may go to heaven 
wlien the sun shines upon a rainy day. which suggests "paying 
one's debts ou the (lireek calends." 

"Masterly iiiact i\-ity. " of l're(|uent a]ipearance in modern 



MISCELLANEA 



211 



writings, was foreshadowed iu Horace's Strenua )ios exercet 

inertia. 

The declaration that a certain man will sneeze w^henever 
a certain other takes snuff, is, in substance, like Luther's say- 
ing, that "when the abbot throws the dice, the whole convent 
will play." 

Tennyson copies jNloliere in the line, "Marriages an- made 

iu heaven." 

Goldsmith and Fielding both said. "Handsome is that hand- 
some does." 

"Kicking against the pricks." is t'oniid in i^schuyliis. about 

500 B. C. 

"One sw^allow^ does not make a summer," is as old as 

Aristotle. 

The figure of falling water wx-aring a stone appears in the 
Greek bucolic poet Bion of the 3rd century B. C. 

"Better late than never," is of Greek origin, and nearly 
2.000 years old. 

Tennyson's "He makes no friend who never made a foe," 
imitates Young's "The man that makes a character makes 
foes." • 

'•Innocence of a new-born babe." which is contained in 
tlie Homeric hymn to Mercury, could hardly be older. 

The "plain unvarnished tale" in Othello, belongs to iEs- 

chuylus. 

Shakspeare's "Lions make leopards tame," is. in yEschuy- 
1ns.— "But dogs, they say, yield to the mastering wolves." 

"The child is father to the man." says Wordsworth; but 
before him Milton wrote. — 

"The childhood shows the man, 
As morning shows the day." 

"Light is the task when many share the toil." from the 
Iliad, suggests, "Many hands make light work." 

Montaigne's "Killing tw^o birds with one stone." is, in 
the German. "Killing tw^o flies with one flapper." 

"All is not gold that glitters," found in Dryden, Shaks- 
peare, Spenser, and Ghaucer, appears in the French of about 
1300. 



212 MliSCELLANE.V 

Pope's "Welcome the coming', spt'ed tlie parting guest."" 
comes from the Odyssey. 

"Man proposes and God disposes," has a place in C'ervan- 
tes, Thomas a Kempis, Piers Plowman, and tin- Proverbs of 
Solomon. 

"Faint heart ne'er wan a lady fair," ^vhich is taken from 
Burns, is in Spenser thus: "Faint heart fair lady ne'er could 
win. ' ' 

Young's line, "Death loves a shining mark." is only a 
beautiful paraphrase of Francis Quarles's, — 

"Death aims with fouler spite 
At fairer marks." 

"Where Maegregor sits, there is the head of the tal)le," 
seems to be au idea original with Cervantes. 

Cervantes says, "Bishops are made of men." Bulwer says. 
through the mouth of Cardinal Richelieu, "We are no Ix^tter 
than humanity." 

"While there is life there is hope," comes from as far as 
Theocritus. 

The oft-quoted lines of Hudibras. — 

"For those that fly may tight again. 
Which he can never do that's slain," 

are clearly in Demosthenes. 

"Coming in at one ear and going out at the other." is as 
follows in Chaucer: "One care it heard, at the other out it 
went. ' ' 

Talleyrand's witticism to the effect tlial language was given 
to man to conceal his thoughts, suggests tliis from Job. "Who 
is this that darkeneth council by M'ords without knowledge?" 

"The remedy is worse than the disease," is a maxim of 
ante-Christian date. 

It was Bacon who said, "A council of war never fights." 
With all tlie parading of evidence 1o show that Ha con wrote 
Shakspeare's dramas, it is surprising that no successful at- 
tempts have l)een made to show parallelisms of thought and 
expression between the writings of these two great contem- 
poraries. Tn one instance. "Be so true to thysi^lf as thou be 



MISCELLANEA 213 

not false to others," Bacon does seem to paraphrase the advice 
of Poloniiis. 

xiuthors sometimes quite freely repeat themselves. With 
evident unconsciousness on the part of the writer, a charac- 
teristic bright thought is made to re-appear at several places 
in his works. Longfellow has been censured for his line, "Art 
is long and time is fleeting," because it is taken from Goethe, 
who has it in at least three different passages of his writings. 
Now, the truth is. the thought is not original even with Goethe. 
In the fourth century \j. C, Hippocrates wrote, "Life is short 
and art is long." No one, probably, has appropriated more 
from others, or oftener repeated himself, than Shakspeare. 

Few things are more unpleasant for an auditor in a public 
assembly than, after being charmed by an apt simile or other 
figure, to learn that the beautiful trope was not original with 
the speaker. The torture is quite as great, to doubt its author- 
ship, with no likelihood of ever knowing the truth concerning 
it. A clergyman of great learning and rhetorical skill once 
illustrated the possibility of death's being a mere bug-bear 
to mortals by the use of this figure: "To the living," said 
he, "looking at death may be compared to viewing the out- 
side of a church window, where everything is hideous ; while 
for those w'ho have passed beyond it, looking back may be 
to see a beautiful picture." The listener, supposing at the 
time that the idea w^as original with the preacher, had his 
admiration raised to a high pitch. Afterwards, finding that 
the figure in its general features is somewiiat common among 
writers, his admiration experienced a fatal collapse. Goethe 
uses this thought, where he speaks of the dreary exterior and 
the splendid interior of a church window. He compares a 
poem to a painted window, dingy if seen from without, beau- 
1iful when seen from within. Hawthorne, in the following 
exquisite metaphor, has the same idea. "Christian faith," he 
says, "is a grand cathedral, with divinely pictured window^s. 
Standing without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagine 
any: standing within, every ray of light reveals a harmony 
of unspeakable splendors." The same writer also speaks of 
looking closely at the wa^ong side of tapestry. In the same 
line of tliiiilxing ('('r\ante.s coinpai'cs a translation to present- 



214 MISCELLANEA 

ing the wrong side of a piece of tapi-stry to view. Once from 
au unpromising source, in a sermon on tiie importance of little 
things, was heard a sentence of unusual beauty. Though the 
preacher made no acknowledgment of borrowing, it was im- 
possible to think it was his own. The sentence was this: 
"Those only become great who think nothing little but them- 
selves." F'rom an obscure country pulpit this striking figure, 
which probabl}' was original with the speaker, was once heard ; 
the theme of the discourse was avarice, and to show that the 
future life woidd not be cursed by such a passion, the preacher 
referred to the gold-paved streets of the New Jerusalem, and 
said: "AVhat we here adore, there they tread upon.'" 

Sometimes a person of no particular distinction as an 
author originates a sentiment worthy of the classics. Carl 
Schurz. wlien discussing the unreh'uting bitterness of relig- 
ious and political factions in the same party, used a figure 
which, if found in an ancient author, would be highly praised. 
What he said was. "The greatest discords are made wdien two 
persons at the same time play the same tune in tlifferent keys." 
It W'as a fourth-rate writer of the present century who said. 
"The world knows nothing of its greatest men." Mr. Iliulson, 
the able Shakspearian critic, has this original thing about the 
greatest comedy creation : "Falstaff 's speech is like pure, fresh, 
cold water, which always tastes good because it is tasteless." 

There is real literary force in the illiterate preacher's 
extemporaneous prayer, "Though we speak nonsense, God will 
pick out the meaning of it." 

Rarely, a single fortunate expression of no literary value 
l)eyond the merest commonplace makes a man famous. Bishop 
Berkeley's line. "Westward the course of empire takes its 
way," is a good illustration of this. This one line has given 
Berkeley more celebrity than all his idealistic philosophy, and 
yet the poetic value of it hardly exceeds Horace Greeley's, 
"Go west, young man." Even Tupper has said one thing that 
is immortal, "A babe in a house is a Avell-spring of pleasure." 

There are examples of literary parallelisms which are un- 
doubted coincidences. Pilgrim's Progress begins very much 
like the Divine Comedy, though in Bunyan's time there was 
no English translation of Dante. Johnson's Rasselas and Vol- 



.MISCELliANEA 215 

taire's Candide are so similar in theiiit:' and structure, that it 
lias been thought that, if they had not appeared at the same 
time, their likeness would have stamped the later production 
with plagiary. A man once saw in a large clearing of a fron- 
tier settlement a magnificent maple tree, which the wind had 
up-rooted, lying a huge solitary wreck. The unphilosophic 
settler had left this fine specimen standing when the rest of 
the forest had been cut aM^ay, expecting it to remain for many 
years an object of pride, little thinking that when unpro- 
tected by other trees it would be leveled to the ground by 
the first violent gale. The observer in question, speculating 
upon Avhat seemed to be an original idea, was immediately 
impressed with the possibility of making the incident illus- 
trate the importance of self-reliance. To his amazement, after- 
wards, he stumbled upon the following in Seneca: "The tree 
that is exposed to the wind takes the best root." Dr. Johnson 
declared that everything which Hume had advanced against 
Christianity had passed through his own mind long before 
Hume wrote. 

Few ever realize that the Old Testament Scriptures are 
the original source of many expressions employed in daily 
conversation. The phrase, "breach of promise," which to-day 
has essentially a single meaning, is found in the Book of Num- 
bers, where its import is general, as is warranted by its ety- 
mology. The asseveration, sometimes heard, that one could 
not be induced to perform a certain act even if offered the 
most exorbitant sum of money, is like Balaam's reply to Balak, 
in which he declares that "'a houseful of silver and gold" 
would not tempt him to "go beyond the commandment of 
the Lord." When we speak of the post of honor as the 
"head" and the place of dishonor as the "tail," we are 
quoting from Deuteronomy. In First Samuel occur the fol- 
owing, — "The ears of every one that heareth it shall tingle;" 
— "Quit yourselves like men;" — "God save the king;" — "a 
man after his own heart;" — "When I have sounded my fa- 
ther;" — "have played the fool;" — "was much set by:" and 
"tell on us." These that follow are in Second Samuel, — 
"smote him under the fifth rib;" — "We are thy bone and 
flesh;" — "Let us play the men;" — "take the thing to his 



216 MISCEI.LANEA 

heart;" and "in a great strait." In First Kings is this. — 
"The half was not told me." The phrase, "much rubbisli," 
occurs in Nehemiah. The following specimen of sarcasm is 
from Job, — ''Art thou the first man that was born? or wast 
thou made before the hills 1 ' ' These also are in Job, — ' ' escaped 
with the skin of his teeth;" and "that mine adversary had 
written a book." The Psalms contain what follows, — "shall 
come down upon his own pate;" and "more than heart could 
wish." In Proverbs are, — "Hope deferred maketh the heart 
sick;" and "wise in his own conceit." In Ecclesiastes it is 
written, — "There is no discharge in that war;" and "Much 
study is a weariness of the flesh." In Isaiah are found. — "pre- 
cept upon precept, line upon line;" "Show yourselves men;" 
"Why gaddest thou about?" From Jeremiah is taken, almost 
word for word. Patrick Henry's famous, "peace, peace, but 
there is no peace." The surprising use of an adjective may 
be seen in Jeremiah, where mention is made of a basket of 
naughty figs. "Know for certain," is also in Jeremiah. In 
Lamentations we have "blacker than a coal." In Ezekiel ap- 
pears the simile, "weak as water." "He may run that read- 
eth," is from Habakkuk. In Haggai mention is made of the 
neglectful man that "earneth wages to be put into a pocket 
with lioles." 

A very select few may be designated as more strictly 
original Avriters. They are not popular authors. They are 
best understood when compared with others of equal prom- 
inence. For examiile. James Russell Lowell writes out of his 
learning; Nathaniel Hawthorne, out of himself. 

The choicest things in Sterna are not likely to be found 
in earlier productions, even though some have questioned his 
ownership of "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." a 
sentence enough in itself to make any man immortal. 

Robert Burns is deservedly placed among the originals. 
His "Sweet Afton" and "John Anderson my Jo" have no 
borrowed look. 

To Richt(>r assuredly l)elongs, "The purer the golden vessel, 
the more readily is it bent." a figure intended to show how 
much more easily a woman's character is nuirred by vice 
than a man's. 



MISCELLANEA 



217 



It must be that Tliackeray was tlic tirst to say, "Bravery 
never goes out of fashion." 

Socrates seems to have originated the saying relative to 
the commodiousness of taking a wife. "Let a man take which 
eourse he will, he will be sure to repent." 

The works of Wordsworth, George Sand, Robert Brown- 
ing, and Charles Lamb have the stamp of originality. So 
Goldsmith's lines. — 

"The man recovered from the l)ite. 
The dog it was that died." 

The Letters of Junius are a storehouse of beautiful original 
thought clothed in masterly language. 

Goethe has many passages of striking aiul powerful orig- 
inality. In his much admired analysis of Hamlet he asserts 
that the demand upon the hero of that drama t'or momentous 
action, which the times made upon his inadequate nature, is 
like planting an oak tree in a costly jar. which must be shivered 
by the expanding roots. 

The following from Seneca strike one as original: "'What 
wind will serve him that is not yet resolved upon his port?" 
•'Nature does not give virtue, and it is a kind of art to be- 
come good." 

This piece of philosophy, taken from Selden's Table Talk, 
is evidently Selden's own: "Wise men say nothing in dan- 
gerous times." 

In the Meditations of Thomas a Kempis, "Of two evils the 
less is always to be chosen." is thought to make its Hrst ap- 
pearance. 

"He Avhistled as he went for want of thought." is no doubt 
original with Dryden. 

"The cuckoo told his name to all the hills." Tennyson lays 
a just claim to. 

Burke nuist have been the first to say. "The rose is even 
more beautiful before it is full blown." 

Oui- Bancroft claims kinship with the classic writers in 
such an original expression as the following: "The brightest 
lightnings are kindled in Ihe darkest clouds." 

Almost innumerable are the apothems comnion to most 
(»f the modern languages, the origin of which is clouded in 



218 MISCELLANEA 

mystery. Many of them can be traced through three hundred 
or. even four hundred years. It is but little short of amazing 
to find in the French of Rabelais such trite expressions as 
these: "'Strike while the iron is hot;"— "He grasped too much 
and held fast too little;'" — "He reckoned without his host;'' — 
"Ke beat the bush ^^ithout catching the birds;"' — "He always 
looked a gift horse in the mouth;" — "He kept the moon t'rt)m 
the wolves;" — "Nothing was too hot or too heavy for him;" — 
"He was as thin as a red herring;" — "He had a ilea in his 
ear;" — "Tell ti-uth and shame the devil;"- — " He feared his 
own shadow;" — "A word to the wise is sufficient." A search 
through Montaigne. Cervantes, Le Sage, and Shal^speare would 
give results no less surprising. 

It would be gratifying to know beyond question who first 
agreed to pay his debts on the Greek Kalends; to know where 
Pludibras found, "To play with souls at fast and loose:" also 
who first wrote, "If thou'st not seen the Louvre, tht)u art 
damned," which Hazlitt quotes in his Table Talk. 

The street gamin says. "I can't see it in that light." an 
expression Fielding quotes from somewhere. 

'.'Barking dogs never bite." may be older than tlie alpliabet. 

What unknown original capped the climax, who depicted 
absurdity by describing his victim as one who would cry. 
"Fire! fire! in Noah's flood?" 



M' 



EPISTOLARY LITERATURE. 

'OST great authors have left behind them something of 
significance in the epistolary way. though but few 
rest any considerable part of their fame upon such 
writing. As usually bound up with the poems the letters of 
Burns and Byron and a host of others are an unimportant 
factor in what constitutes the literary wealth of any one of 
them. Longfellow's letters are numerous, dreary, and nearly 
stupid and add nothing to. if they do not even lessen his 
fame. The Carlyle-Emerson correspondence is not great in a 
literary sense as the miscellaneous works of either are great. 
Of the celebrated writers whose letters may be said to 



MISCELLANEA 219 

constitute some essential part of their reputation as authors, 
Cicero is perhaps the most eminent. His orations, splendid 
achievements as they are. and his ]>rilliant philosophical writ- 
ings, however mostly borrowings from the Greeks, would, if 
unrevealed by the charm of his epistolary light, lack some- 
thing which makes for his greatness and renown. His letters 
re^'eal his character and clarify the mistiness that would 
otherwise obscure his career as a statesman. They are a part 
of the man we should be unwilling to miss, so needed are they 
for his completeness as one of the foremost of tlie world's great 
leaders in thought, literature, and public action. Shelley's 
letters are of sufficient merit "to be praised by the praised." 
It is fortunate for Shelley, whose poetry is too subtle and 
intellectual for the great body of readers, that he secures a 
more general hearing through his epistolary productions. jMon- 
tesquieu, celebrat(>d for his published researches in the fields 
of politics, history, and philosophy, was no less celebrated for 
his "Persian Letters." which won him entrance to the French 
Academy in 1728. To this list of writers who would still be 
eminent even if shorn of the fame derived from epistolary 
work, many could be added, perhaps few superior to those 
already included in it. Most assuredly St. Paul, Seneca and 
Balzac should not be forgotten. Andrew Lang's "Letters to 
Dead Authors" are sui generis. Nobody who loves good litera- 
ture can miss their charm. 

There are a few important authors whose reputations rest 
almost wholly, and yet securely, on what they have left pos- 
terity in the way of epistolary writings. The younger Pliny, 
one of the earliest of these, is also one of the most worthy. 
His charming letter giving the particulars of the death of 
his uncle, the elder Pliny, whose scientific curiosity exposed 
him to sutfocation in the time of an eruption of Vesuvius, is 
of unusual grace. Early among the post-Augustan writers of 
Rome three remarkable men come together, all being bom 
about the middle of the first century of our era. These are 
Juvenal, Tacitus, and the younger Pliny — the first being Rome's 
greatest satirist, the second her greatest historian, and the 
third a writer of letters surpassed only by Cicero. Pliny, like 
Cicero, was eminent as an orator. h\\\ unfortunately for his 



220 MISCPJLLANEA 

fame his orations have been lost. Jt was wliili' governor of 
Bithynia that Pliny wrote the famous letter to Trajan about 
the Christians. The fame of Voiture. a Preneh writer of the 
seventeenth eentury. is supported entirely l)y his letters. The 
letters of Lady Mary Wortley jNlontagu. written at Constan- 
tinople early in the eighteenth century, are still fresh and read- 
able, and seem likely to keep their author's name in respect- 
able prominence for centuries to come. The "'Letters of Jun- 
ius'" are classic English; and Chesterfield's "Letters to his 
Son."" mari-ed as they are by inexcusable immorality, the judi- 
cious and discriminating may well read for their grace and 
style of thought. In this list of writers who are known essen- 
tially for their epistolary compositions, ^ladamc de Sevigne 
is to be included. Her letters are justly celebrated and reflect 
for all time something of the age of Louis XIV.. which litera- 
ture could not well spare. To the foregoing should be added 
Horace AValpoh^'s Letters to Horace Mann. 



LIFE IX LETTERS. 



IT wa.s a saying of "Dick"" Steele, that men ai-e hctlcr known 
by what may be observed of them from a perusal of their 
private letters than in any other way. The cliarm of "The 
Letters of Eliza b(>th Harrett Browning"' is biograjihical rather 
than literai-y. and therein they harmonize witli Steele's idea. 
The element of the unconscious so essential to good epistolary 
biography, is evident in these letters, their very dullness at 
times being a ])roof of the fact. A serious blemish of the "Con- 
fessions of Rousseau" is the presence of too nuich of the self- 
conscious, and this despite the author's assuranee that he 
had artlessly told everything about himscdf. the bad and good 
alike. The letters of INlrs. lirowning are not to be classed as 
epistolary literature, like the letters of Cicero. Seneca, Pliny. 
Lady Montagu. Chesterfield, or Balzac. The frtHjuent repe- 
titions in her hitters, not only of facts and incidents but of 
exact phraseology, are an indication of their spontaneousness. 
Their chief interest is personal, and the world is Mrs. Brown- 
ing's debtor for thus throwing open the Avindows of the soul 



MISCEI;LANEA 221 

and letting the light reveal the true woman. The only letter 
in the two volumes that seems to have been written with lit- 
erary intent is one addressed to Napoleon III. in behalf of 
V^ietor Hugo, which, however, was never sent. As ill health, 
especially in early life, deprived Mrs. Browning of social en- 
joyment, letter-Meriting became a necessity with her. 

A prominent characteristic of Mrs. Browning, as revealed 
by her letters, is freedom from bitterness of spirit, a delightful 
quality of character, and one seldom exemplified in a confirmed 
invalid. She calls herself "Ba, " a name given her t)y her 
brother, and encourages her familiar acquaintances to call her 
by that name. Her friend Miss Mitford happily describes her 
"with a shower of dark curls falling on either side of a most 
expressive face, large tender eyes, richly fringed by dark eye- 
lashes, a smile like a sunbeam." Her attachment for her ever 
present dog "Flush," who, as she puts it, "goes out every day 
and speaks Italian to the little dogs," exhibits a tender nature. 
Her sound judgment is shown in her belief that, while she does 
not consider happiness the end of life, work is the true source 
of happiness. 

Mrs. Browning's scholarship is incidentally shown to be 
considerably more than respectable. From reading Pope's 
translation of Homer she came to study Greek. Sh(; read in 
the original something of Plato, Aristotle, and Aristophanes, 
and translated the Prometheus Bound of i^schuyliis. She 
wrote Greek Avithout accent or breathings. She also studied 
German and Hebrew, and her long residence in Italy and 
France gave her an acquaintance with the languages of those 
countries. She speaks amusedly of her mistake in confound- 
ing Constantine and Constantius. but tells her friends not to 
mention it, as nobody will find it out. 

Mrs. Browning, who essayed literary composition when a 
mere girl, having published at the age of ten. had her talents 
early recognized in America, where she has always l)een pop- 
ular. The letters, however, contain but little relating to her 
as an author. She modestly keeps her gifts as a writer in 
the back-ground. Two adverse criticisms of her works annoy- 
ed her greatly, that she followed Tennyson and that her rhym- 
ing was not good. The claim, put forward by some of her 



222 MISCELLA2SEA 

admirers, of her fitness to succeed Wordsworth as poet laure- 
ate, she promptly renounced, her choice for that honor being 
Leigh Hunt. No doubt her literary fame is somewhat en- 
hanced from the fact that she was the wife of Robert Brown- 
ing. When Mrs. Browning's immaculate morals are consid- 
ered, it is beyond belief, w^hat the letters reveal, that Thackeray 
once rejected a lyric she offered for publication in the C'ornhill 
Magazine, because morally unfit for young readers. 

Mrs. Browning is quite free, and generally discriminating 
and just, in her criticisms of other authors. She calls Tenny- 
son "a divine poet." no laurel being ''too leafy" for him; 
and speaks of Wordsworth's death as "a great light out of 
heaven," adding, "Apollo taught him under the laurels, while 
all the Muses looked through the boughs." She was pleased 
with Bulwer. admired Dickens as an imaginative writer, under- 
rated Scott, and praised Coleridge. She calls Harriet ^lar- 
tineau tlie most logical intellect of the age. for a woman, and 
remarks of George Sand. "If she is not the first genius of 
any country or age. I really do not know who is." Shunning. 
as she did. George Eliot as morally infected, it is impossible 
that she should have conceded all that is due that great intel- 
lect. Balzac she thinks inspired, as who must not f She Avas 
not adequately impressed by incomparable Thackeray ; she 
thought him intellectually great, but in tone cruel and un- 
wholesome. Of American authors she has but little to say. 
She mentions among others Longfellow. Hawthorne, and ^Irs. 
Si owe. Of ]Mrs. Stowe's "Sunny ^lemories" she writes: "It 
is wonderful that a woman who has written a book to make 
the world ring should write so abominably." The work of 
Margaret Fuller, whom she knew intimately, she pronounces 
"just naught." 

While, as was the case with Hawthorne. ]\Irs. Browning 
claimed, when she first visited Italy, to know nothing about 
pictures, and looked to her husband for inspiration in this 
direction, she went into raptures over the natural scenery of 
the country. It was from Vallombrosa. she asserts, that Milton 
took his description of Paradise. She equaled Landor in prais- 
ing Florence, regarding it as the most beautiful of the cities 
devised by man. Of all the Brownings' places of foreign 



MISCELLANEA 223 

residence — Pisa, Floreuce, Venice, Naples, Rome, and J^aris^ — 
Florence pleased her most. Mr. Browning liked Paris hest ; 
while neither eared for Rome. The first winter of theJi' mar- 
ried life, that of 1846-17, was passed in Pisa. They visited 
\'<iiiclus('. made renowned by Petrarcli and Lani'ji. It was 
here that Mr. Browning took his wife in Ids arms and carrj'- 
ing her to the middle of a shalloAv brook seated lier on a rock. 
In 1852. in Paris. Mrs. Browning wrote about an epidemic 
ealled "la grippe," — "their name for inflnen/a." 

Mrs. Browning's personal friends and aequaintanees are 
many of them conspicuous in the literary world, and her 
unconventional way of introducing us to them throws a clear 
light on their personalities. A partial list of these includes 
Miss Mitford, George Sand, George Eliot, Mrs. Jameson, Flor- 
ence Nightingale. Miss MartineavL Garlyle, Landor, Charles 
Lever, Tennyson, Thackeray, and the Americans, Story. Pow- 
ers, Hawthorne, Ware, Sumner, Mrs. Stowe. Margaret Fuller, 
and Miss Hosmer. She used to say her chance visitors were 
chiefly Americans, for whose country she always expressed 
a warm affection. Considering Mrs. Browning's complete 
acceptance of George Sand, it is difficult to understand her 
severe scrutiny of George P]liot. Speaking of "Mr. Lewes 
and Miss Evans." she says: "The author of Mill on the Floss 
is here at Rome with her elective affinity, always together. 
They are said to visit nobody." Afterwards, at Floi-ence. she 
said she should not refuse to see ]\Iiss Evans. 

Jn her I'lOigious belief Mrs. Browning Avas an orthodox non- 
conformist, not demonstratively pious, but a diligent reader 
of the Scriptures. All her life she had an intense and. it must 
be said, unfortunate infatuation for mesmerism and spiritu- 
alism. This prepossession crops out somewhat offensively in 
the letters, and seems to be a characteristic weakness. It was 
the only thing that ever caused the slightest ruffle between 
her and her husband. She writes in relation to mesmerism : 
"I believe in mesmerism but not in mesmerists." Evidently 
a similar view was taken of spiritualism. 

It is to be noticed that not only Mrs. Browning, but several 
of her literary countrymen and contemporaries, were decidedly 
unEnglish in their affections. Walter Savage Landor, to whom 



224 MISCEliLANEA 

Robert Browning acknowledges a greater debt for literary 
inspiration than to any one else, was notorious for his hatred 
of England. When everything is considered, Mrs. Browning 
may be pardoned for any lack of patriotism she gave evidence 
of. Home and country are ideas so inseparable that the l)i"('ak- 
ing of the ties of one is virtually the breaking of the ties of 
both. In England Mrs. Browning dreads "the moral east wind 
which is colder than any other." She does not hesitate to 
call herself a democrat, and that I'epeatedly. 

The world will never cease to be interested in tiie strange 
and i-oniantie ex])erien('es of the lifownings. beginning with 
their days of courtship, ineludiug their semi-clandestine mar- 
riage at Maryleboi'ne Church l)efore two witnesses, and their 
married life, mostly s^^nshine and joy. with jnst enough of 
shadow and heart-breaking to make it real. Mrs. -Jameson 
characterizes the circumstances of the marriage of this noted 
pair as "rendering imprudence the height of ])rudenee."' Tin- 
attachment betwt'en Mr. Bro^\"ning and ^liss Barrett had its 
beginning in correspondence. She was in raptures of pi-idc 
over a letter from "Browning tlie poet." — "Browning the 
author of Paracelsus, poet and mystic." At Pisa slie writes: 
"When 1 am tired Robert and I sit down on a stone to watch 
the lizards." In one place she says: "Roliert always calls 
me 'Ba;' " in another: "Women generally los(> by marriage, 
but 1 have gained the world by mine." At Florence she 
writes: "We are as happy as two owls in a hole." She 
delights to call Robert "the prince of husbamls." The baby 
AVideman, as might be expected, figures in the letters, which 
contain choice maternal touches. "Half the day." she says. 
"I do nothing but admire him." The heart recoils Avith a 
chill from contemplating the treatment Mrs. BioAvning re- 
ceived from her almost inhumanly selfish father in his mad 
opposition to her marriage. His objection does not seem to 
have been to the man she married, but to hei" marrying at 
all. His selfishness even forbade his daughter's going abroad 
for her health in company with her bi-other. Mr. Barrett not 
only disoAvned her inunediately upon her marriage. l)ut was un- 
relenting evci- after, lie would not even open the lettei's sin- 
sent him, and took no notice of one written him by her hus- 
band. He refused to see their child. 



MISCELLANEA 225 

These letters contain something of the epigramiuatic that 
deserves mention. In her early days at Sidmouth she gives 
as a reflection: "I have often thought that it is happier not 
to do what one pleases." In ridicule of some enthusiasts who 
would make Ossian the equal of Homer she says: "Homer 
sometimes nods, but Ossian makes his readers nod ; " in an- 
other place: "Noah was once drunk, indeed. l)ut once he 
built the ark." Speaking of Coleridge she says: "The wings 
of his genius are wide enough to cast a shadow over his feet." 
Of love she says: "Men of genius are apt to love with their 
imagination." In estimating authors: "Balzac, George Sand, 
and the like immortal improprieties hold all tht- honors." 
Speaking of the Lady of Locksley Hall: "I must cither pity 
or despise a woman who could have married Tennyson and 
chose a common man;" of familiar correspondence: "Little 
details Avhich are such gold dust to absent friends;" of men: 
"The hearts of men arc gcnci'ally strong in pr()])()rti()n to their 
heads;" of the baby: "Pray don't suppose he has only one 
chin;" of literary fame: "The vogue which begins with the 
inasses generally conies to nought, while the ap[)i'(M'iHtion be- 
ginning with the few always (mds with the masses." Refer- 
ring to the death of Mrs. Browning in 1861. at the age of 
55. the editor of the Letters writes: "So ended on earth the 
most perfect example of wedded happiness in tlu^ history of 
literature." 



WORK. 

WOKK. or its synonym labor, and with which toil and 
drudgery are closely allied in meaning, is preemi- 
nently the leading part in the drama of life. Work 
is the siiK quo iio» of civilization, as may be inferrt^d from the 
state of barbarism that usually exists wherever nature atfords 
the means of subsistence without human eii'ort. 

To call labor "the seed of idleness" is not so ii-rational 
as it might seem; for while it is true that "we would all 
be idle if we could," and that we only willingly toil in the 
hope of at length enjoying rest as the fruit of our labor, this 



1^26 MISCELLANEA 

hope, though often delusive, is a necessary incentive to right 
living, as it calls forth the exertion upon which human pro- 
gress is conditioned. It seems, in some manner quite unin- 
telligible to us, to be the inexorable decree of fate, that what 
was in the beginning declared to be man's greatest curse 
should prove to be his greatest blessing. 

All this must be accepted as true, despite the fact that 
the rewards of a future life are all made to centre in the 
idea of rest. It is. however, not unreasonable to suppose 
that our tastes, ideals, and necessities will be changed, or 
even reversed after passing through the dark valley. It is 
the reflection of some one, in view of the gold-paved streets 
of the New Jerusalem, that gold, something we here adore, 
there we shall tread upon. 

The necessity of labor in the scheme of human develop- 
ment has been recognized by the wisest in every age. as it 
has been approved by general observation and experience. It 
is Carlyle's expressed belief, that "there is endless hope in 
work." He even calls work worship. Enforced inactivity, 
if long continued, becomes disheartening to a degree beyond 
endurance. Like close confinement in prison, it destroys nat- 
ural cheerfulness, engenders bitterness of spirit, and at length 
produces despair. 

Quite in line with this idea is something contained in the 
Rambler, where it is stated that "the safe and general anti- 
dote to sorrow is occupation." Just so, employment is a 
common remedy for morbidness and incipient insanity. "The 
secret of life," says Mrs. Browning, "is in full occupation." 
She declares that the world is not tenable on other terms. 
According to Jeremy Taylor, "Idleness is the burial of a liv- 
ing man." This is only another way of saying that to be 
really alive is to be at work. A modern writer calls hard 
work a great police agent. This idea is cogently expressed 
in one of the Divine songs of Watts: 

"For Satan finds some mischief still 
"For idle hands to do." 

The German poet Schiller echoes the same sentiment when 
lie savs. "In Idle hours the evil mind is busv." So in Balzac 



MISCELLANEA 227 

we iiiid, "If a man lias nothing to do, lie will sooner get into 
mischief than do nothing at all." The Greek dramatist Euri- 
pides calls leisure "that seductive evil." Goethe, who, like 
another Shakspeare. has touched all the depths and shoals 
of human thought, sees "nothing more wretched than a man 
in comfortable circumstances without work." A writer of 
lesser note thinks "nine-tenths of the vice and misery of the 
world proceeds from idleness." Lord Chatham calls vacancy 
worse than even the most anxious work. Lincoln says his 
father taught him to work, but never taught him to love it. 
By way of partial negation, in view of all that has been 
said, what Coleridge writes about hope and work is worth 
remembering : 

"Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve; 
And hope without an object can not live." 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 



IN that brilliant fragment, "Buckle's History of Civiliza- 
tion," appears the striking truth, that "the only protec- 
tion against the tyranny of any class is to give that class 
very little power." This suggests the parallel reasoning, that 
the only prevention of excess in the display of expenditure 
in social matters is the infrequency of vast accumulations 
of wealth. Great powers of indulgence and enjoyment carry 
with them great temptations to over-indulgence. So hard it 
is to keep the golden mean. Still, the liberty of the individ- 
ual to accumulate property, and the right to control it within 
tolerably free bounds, are his naturally and legitimately. They 
are the very foundation of society and are the most vital stim- 
ulus of civilization. What this age witnesses is no exception 
to a very old rule, as history testifies, that quite commonly 
evil is the result of good carried to the extreme. In the gross 
lavishness of some New York and Paris entertainments human 
nature is but repeating itself. In this country it is becoming 
more and more common to hear satirized the Epicurean ten- 
tlencies of the times; but snch excesses are nothing new. Call- 



228 MISCELLANEA 

gula spent £10.000 on a single supper. At a Roman feast the 
tish was reckoned stale unless it died in the hands of a guest. 
Wherever wealth is abnormal, there will invariably l)e ex- 
travagant display of dress, equipage, attendants, and eostly 
dwellings and estates. Sumptuary laws hav(» never been found 
in favor, whether relating to food and drink or wearing ap- 
parel; whether in attempting to cheek the elongation of a 
dude's boots, or to control the fashion of dressing a lady's 
hair. The press does much to keep within bounds the social 
expenditures of the wealthy ; a work the satirists have per- 
formed with considerable success in all past times. Juvenal 
ridicules the epicure who boasted of his delicate gastronomic 
taste, which at the first mouthful could tell unerringly the 
exact place from which the oysters were taken. The shrewd- 
ness of law-makers in devising means to improve the manners 
of the people has not often equaled that of the Locrians. who. 
to prevent extravagance, made a law that no free woman 
should be allowed more than one maid to follow hei- unless 
she was drunk. 



MAN AND PATRIOT. 



IN a character like Washington it is difficult to dissociate 
the man from his achievements. Washington is too nearly 
apotheosized to submit readily to candid criticism. He is 
understood as a soldier and as a statesman, but only slightly 
as a man. Mr. Ford's ''The True George Washington'' comes 
nearer unveiling the great patriot than anything ever before 
attempted concerning him in a literary way. Mr. Ford shows 
him human, a compound of iiesh, blotxl. sinew, and bone, and 
possessed of feeling and sentiment just lilve otlier people, and 
yet he in no sense degrades him or causes him to decline in the 
real respect and (^steem of his admirers. It requires an elfort 
to realize how liigli Washington stands among the great ones 
of the earth; and it is only when we do fully realize it that 
we cease wondering why he is so generally looked upon as a 
demigod. "To be the tirst of Greece." says Montaigne, "is to 
be the first of the Avorld.'' Few eharaetei's of Gr(>ece. or of 



MISCELLANEA 229 

auy otlu'i- land, have a loftiei- or sefiirci- nit-lie in fame's tem- 
ple than the "Father of his Country." Great men have been 
honored variously, but sehlom in such a markinl degree as is 
accorded him in our recognition of the twenty-second day of 
February, the day of his birth. All civilized nations, in using 
the calendai'. in a fasliion deify Julius and Augustus Caesar, 
each having one of the months named after him. This is a 
great distinction, perhaps the greatest that couhl be mentioned. 
Aside from these men. who else has greater distinction shown 
him than our national hero, on account of whom ninety millions 
of people turn from their serious business pursuits one day in 
each year to pay a tribute of regard and gratitude f 

The most flattering biographers of Washington no longer 
elaim for him a distinguished ancestry. He was but little 
better off in this respect than Dr. Johnson, who claimed not 
to know who his grandfather was. The most that can be said. 
and it is enough, is, that Washington descended from respect- 
able paternal and maternal stock. His boyhood, embellished 
somewhat by the myths of Mason Weems, cherry tree included, 
being for the greater part of his life fatherless, was made all 
too serious by unnatural responsibilities. It was nnich given 
up to outdoor lif(\ His heart-susceptibilities were at least nor- 
mally human, for Ave are told that his early love affairs were 
numerous. It is an incident worthy of mention that one of 
his sweethearts, pretty Lucy Grymes. who afterwards married 
Harry Lee, was the mother of "Light Horse Harry." the author 
of "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his 
countrymen." and was likewise grandmother of General Robert 
E. Lee of Confederate fame. Fortune favored Washington in 
his final choice of a wife, for in the widow^ Martha Custis he 
had for his life's completeness one who both brought wealtli 
and was "herself a dower." This union, besides being happy, 
made Washington one of the richest men in the colonies. 

It is to be noticed that the greatest men are often modest 
men. This is even especially true of military men. as Wash- 
ington. Grant. Thomas. Lee, and Stonewall Jackson prove. 
Washington never boasted of his deeds, and received commen- 
dation Avith becoming diffidence. He stannnered out his ac- 
knoAvledgiiiciits when thanked by the House of Bui-gesses for 



230 MISCELLANEA 

his part in the French and Indian war. (Courage was to Wash- 
ington as natural as breathing. When young he was reckk^ss 
in his boldness, and even "loved to hear the bullets whistle." 
His cool daring at Braddock's Defeat, when he was only 
twenty-two years old. is almost unexampled. Here he had 
two horses shot under him, besides having four bullets pass 
througli his clothing. The critical juncture which brought out 
his qualities in a signal manner at Trenton and Princeton, had 
the energizing force of despair. His courage at this time de- 
termined the fate of the colonies. That he was kind was 
shown by his treatment of his slaves, his care for his step- 
children, and the adoption of his step-son's children, and by 
his affectionate attention to young La Fayette, the son of his 
friend and ally. His generosity appeared in giving his serv- 
ices during the entire Revolutionary War, and in being utterly 
free from the spirit of jealousy. When his associates or sub- 
ordinates were more successful than he. it pleased rather than 
soured him. General Grant resembled him in this respect. He 
was an adept in diplomacy, one of the tirst qualities of a man 
of affairs. He dealt successfully with (*ongress, and managed 
his French allies with skill as rare as it was little appreciated. 
For nothing was AVashington more eminent than for his forti- 
tude and patience. Without these qualities in a marked degree 
he would never have won independence for the colonies. Under 
the greatest discouragements he kept a firm heart. Though 
ever- retreating, he yet always inspired confidence. Valley 
Forge could not break his imperturbable spirit nor the Con- 
way cabal force him to resign. He was determined upon com- 
plete success, and his superb dignity in its pursuit impressed 
all Europe. 

Washington's sdiolarly and literary attainments were 
hardly more than ordinary. He had a librar.y of about nine 
hundred volumes, but was not a great reader, except of books 
relating to war and agriculture. He wrote a great deal, but for 
the most part what was commonplace. Some of his letters of 
friendship and tomplimcmt are more than ordinarily graceful. 

He seldom spoke in public, like Jefferson having no gifts 
in that direction. That he was not averse to gaiety and annise- 
ments is manifest from his fondness for dancing and the theatre. 



MISCELLANEA 281 

He cared little for music and art. and was not gi\'en to saying 
brilliant things. A sense of hnmor has been denied him. and, 
it would seem, with good reason. Mr. Lodge, in his admirable 
life of Washington, makes a herculean effort to prove that his 
hero had humor, but with no signal success. It is doubtful 
if Washington ever joked. His life was serious from the be- 
ginning, being sobered by a great weight of care. He was 
naturally of strong passions, but these were under nearly per- 
fect control. When angry he was known to indulge in severe 
language. It is a matter of history that he used "wicked words" 
at Monmouth. Discernment was a marked characteristic of 
AVashington. 

He judged men as unerringly as Grant did, gener'ally choos- 
ing the titting one for a place of responsibility. Pie never 
failed to recognize the essential. When the messenger reported 
to him the battle of Bunker Hill, he asked the most important 
question possible, "Did the militia stand fire?" and when 
answered in the affirmative he was content. He was a stickler 
for official ceremony, and was in consequence accused of royal 
tendencies. The display at his inauguration was far removed 
from the Jeffersonian simplicity of a later time. Yet it was the 
office, not the man, he would adorn. His personal and domestic 
habits were in general simple. He liked to go to bed at nine 
o'clock, whenever it was possible. Display in dress was evi- 
dently a matter of pride with him, though his black velvet 
suit, knee-breeches, diamond buckles, and powdered hair were 
only in keeping with the custom of the leading Virginia families 
of the time. He was fond of horses, dogs, hunting, fishing, and 
athletic sports. He had an imposing figure, being "six feet 
two" in his boots. 

Like every other man of great eminence he had his enemies 
and detractors. They called him proud and cold and found 
fault with his boM^ Once while in office the cry of impeach- 
ment was raised against him. As was the case with Grant, he 
was called commonplace, stolid, and lacking in genius. His 
enemies even said he was not a true American, but only a 
veneered Englishman. Our own historians are lavish in their 
praise of Washington. Excepting a few discordant notes, like 
those of Carlyle, foreign writers have been profuse in their 



232 MISCELLANEA 

expressions of admiration for him. Landor ranked Washing- 
ton second to none. Thackeray, in "The Virginians," lauds 
him Avithout stint. As a man Washington seems to have been 
lacking in warmth of feeling and in humor, two qualities most 
conspicuous in Lincoln's character; but for thorough devotion 
to country he is without a peer. As William Shakspeare is 
called the prince of poets, and as Sir Philip Sidney is called 
the typical gentleman, so George Washington may be called 
the model patriot of all time. 



JOINT HONORS. 



IT is difficult to name the first American. It is easy enough 
to name the first two. They are, as nearly every one will 
admit, Washington and Lincoln. These appear like equal 
suns revolving about some common centre. From the prerog- 
ative given him by the hallowing influence of over a hundred 
years. AVashington may at present lay claim to the higher dis- 
tinction. Whether the future is to reverse the prol)abilities 
and place Lincoln on the higher pedestal, time alone must de- 
cide. Washington was supported by the dignity of social rank 
and the pride of birth ; Liiicoln. ])y the dignity of charming 
and almost miraculous human-heartedness. joined to other ex- 
traordinary gifts. Both were patriots of unsullied worth and 
conspicuous among the Avorld's greatest and best. Greatness 
is comparative. Ah'n of action, to be among the foremost of 
the ages, must be associated with civil and national affairs of 
the first consideration. Alexander and Caesar, in the fortunate 
al)sorptioii of empire they enjoyed, each had a world for a 
kingdom. Even in the competitions of later civilizations and 
in the greater equalizing of imperial possessions, the most illus- 
trious have been in some manner the exponents of great nat- 
ional power. Washington's renown grows with the inereasiug 
renown of the republic he founded. To save and perpetuate 
the same republic in its maturer and unrivabni glory was the 
means of discovering in Lincoln such rare human qualities as 
only at infrequent intervals amaze mankind. 

On manv accounts it is unfortunate tliat these two men 



MISCELLANEA 283 

have birthdays so near together. It would seein a prodigality 
of patriotism to have two such kindred holidays in tlse same 
month. Although a few of the States have ventured to do 
this, it is not likely that a national holiday will ever be ae- 
corded Lincoln, a thing that would be inevitable had he been 
born'under another zodiacal sign. 

In noting the grounds on w^hich Lincoln's fame rests, it is 
worth while considering the anomaly of almost universal esteem 
in which he is held in all sections of the country, the South 
even not excepted. What greater glory can a mortal achieve 
than to have the affection of those coerced by him in awful 
war? The Caesars. Julius and Augustus, were placed in the 
calendar on account of qualities of head only. Lincoln is to 
be raised to the skies for qualities of both heart and head. 

Since it seems so unlikely that the shortest month of the 
year is ever to contain two national holidays commemorative 
of distinguished Americans, why not make "honors easy" be- 
tween Washington and Lincoln, take the middle point betAveen 
their birth-dates, and make February 17th a national holiday 
for both? 



234 MISCEI.LANEA 

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 

BANNER of hope and bringer of the day. 
In dreams foreseen, of better things to be, 
Thy clustering stars, with empyrean ray. 
Shall pilot man to loftier destiny! 



IN MEMO RIAM — HORACE LATHROP. 

THE voj'age is ended, sails hauled down, and coiled 
Away the ropes." This, Dante's euphemism 
For death, is fitly said of thee, whose life 
A lengthy voyage of duty, conflict, care 
Has been: whose sails, alas, now furled for aye, 
Were swelled by breath of loyalty and truth: 
Whose ropes were cords of love, that stood the stress 
Of every storni and sea, till worn by time 
They snapped like gossamer, without a strain. 
At last, in death's great calm. 



MY MOTHER. 

To me a face of kindliest sympathy 
Comes peering through the rifts of cloudy years; 
Its benedictory smile awakens all 
The powers of memory, causing to live 
Again that dear and saintly one. my Mother. 
Her accents, as of old. articulate 
Become, whether of praise or of reproof, 
The sweetest accents human ear e'er heard. 
Her face and voice a talismanic charm 
Throw o'er the heart and sense, a charm unfading. 
Itself enough to counteract the ills 
Of life and make me truly glad to be. 



MISCELLANEA 235 

THE GIRLS. 

THROUGH the din of departed years come voices familiar and 
bright ; 
Through memory's portals visions come, radiant with light: 
They're the voices and visions of girls, as I knew them in days gone by: 
How the corridors ring with their laughter: love's greeting how it 

beams from each eye! 
It's a joy at the call of fancy to re-people those halls at will. 
For it stirs my soul to rapture and it sends through my heart a thrill. 
If there's aught can make life worth living, with its rush and mad- 
dening whirls. 
It's the retrospective visions and the remembered voices of girls. 



THE WADLEIGH COLORS. 

OF gold and blue our colors be. 
Tints borrowed from the sun and sky; 
Our pride to wear them worthily. 
Our aim their praise to magnify. 
Badges be they of truth and love, 
Of duty and pure friendship's tie; 
Constant remebrancers, to prove 
Our loyalty shall never die. 



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